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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30086562">Cohabitation</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/three_cake_sandwich/pseuds/three_cake_sandwich'>three_cake_sandwich</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bickering, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Castiel Possessing Dean Winchester, Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Gunshot Wounds, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Mild Language, Road Trips, Spells &amp; Enchantments, Witchcraft</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:14:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>22,986</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30086562</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/three_cake_sandwich/pseuds/three_cake_sandwich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cas gets cursed by a witch, he is forced to take a new vessel. Luckily Dean is around to help. Can they work together to hunt her down and get Cas back to normal, or will they kill each other first?</p><p> </p><p>“So that’s it? You’re just going to die?”<br/> <br/>Cas is silent for too long, and Dean shakes him to wake him back up. “There is another way,” he whispers reluctantly. </p><p>“Why didn’t you lead with that?”</p><p>“You won’t like it much.”</p><p>This guy was ridiculous. “Will it save your life?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Then hit me.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>176</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. First Contact</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is set in 2021, but as if season 15 never happened, because screw that. </p><p>I love Jack, but I couldn’t find a role for him in this fic so I’m just imagining he’s on a spa retreat the whole time.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dean sits in front of the new television in the Dean Cave and gets nice and comfy. Sam is out for the day so he can do whatever he wants, and there was a feature-length episode of Doctor Sexy released at Christmas that he’s been dying to watch, but it’s never fit in with his schedule. Until today. </p><p>He’s been planning this for weeks. He’s retrieved the extra-large bag of popcorn from its hiding spot, taken the pillows from spare bedrooms so his butt feels like it’s on a cloud, and put on a pair of fluffy pink socks he’d found a thrift store a few months ago that are the coziest things he owns. </p><p>He clicks the play button on the remote and settles in for a treat. The screen opens to where the season finale left off: Doctor Sexy having to choose between Dr. Cox, the sexy, but conceited, heart surgeon, and Dr. Johnson, the sexy, but paranoid, anesthesiologist. </p><p>Doctor Sexy looks helplessly between the two beautiful women, clearly desiring them both and Dean is already on the edge of his seat, pillows forgotten. The camera zooms in on all of their faces in turn, the music swells. Doctor Sexy takes a deep breath. </p><p>“The woman I choose… is—”</p><p>
  <em> CRASH!</em>
</p><p>A loud bang echoes through the hallways, loud enough to reach him all the way on the other side of the bunker. The shock of it causes him to spill his popcorn all over his seat and the floor. </p><p>“Dammit, Sammy,” he curses to himself. When he looks back at the TV, both women have collapsed onto the floor, having fainted. Christ, what had he missed?</p><p>With a sigh, he pauses the film and gets to his feet, ready to cuss out his little brother for getting home hours early and ruining his afternoon. </p><p>He walks through the never-ending identical hallways to the front door, where he was pretty sure the sound came from and suddenly stops, the cause of the noise becoming obvious. </p><p>Cas is lying at the bottom of the stairs, halfway under a metal filing cabinet. Several others are upturned around him, their contents spilled everywhere. Dean should be alarmed that Cas doesn’t even have the strength to lift the cabinet, but he’s too distracted by the state Cas is in. </p><p>The top of Cas’s disheveled head is covered in several small wounds like he is being cut open from the inside. His face is flushed red and covered in a thin film of sweat, which trickles down his face and mingles with the blood. </p><p>Dean rushes to Cas’s side and helps pull the cabinet off of him. What he finds underneath is worse. Cas’s usually pristine white shirt is covered in massive stains of blood, indicating cuts much bigger than on his face. His left leg is sticking out at an unnatural angle below his knee, and Dean has to hold down a retch when he sees bone poking through Cas’s slacks. </p><p>“Cas, buddy, what’s happening?”</p><p>He crouches down and hauls Cas’s body closer to him so Cas’s chest is on his knees and cradles Cas’s head in his hands. </p><p>“I’m not feeling very well.”</p><p>Dean can’t help but scoff a laugh. “Yeah, no kidding, buddy. Who did this to you?”</p><p>Cas’s answer is delayed by him turning his head to the side and releasing a hacking cough, spatters of blood hitting the floor. “Witch. I pissed her off.”</p><p>“Oh yeah? What did you do?”</p><p>“Tried to kill her.”</p><p>“Yep, that’ll do it. Top dating tip for you, man, women prefer being alive.”</p><p>“Noted. But I wasn’t trying to flirt with her. She’s killed seven people in Omaha in the last month, so I’ve been trying to stop her.”</p><p>He coughs again, this time not turning his head quick enough and coating the front of Dean’s shirt. </p><p>“And let me guess. She thanked you for your kindness by hexing you?”</p><p>“Precisely. Somehow, she knew I was an angel and said she’d been dying to try out this spell. From my translation of the Latin spell, it appears this hex is causing my grace to attack my vessel and vice versa. That’s why I haven’t been able to heal these wounds. My grace has almost completely depleted.”</p><p>Dean swore under his breath. Frigging witches! Always up to some messed-up crap. “Well, there must be an antidote! A counterspell or something!”</p><p>“I’m sure there is,” Cas says weakly, “but it will take too long to find it. I fear I only have minutes left.”</p><p>Dean pales. No. No, that can’t be it, he can’t die. “So with your grace gone, you’ll what? Become human again?”</p><p>“Technically yes, for a short time, and then I’ll die from my wounds.”</p><p>As if to punctuate this point, another cut opens above his left eyebrow and drips blood down the side of his nose. </p><p>“So that’s it? You’re just going to die?”</p><p>Cas is silent for too long, and Dean shakes him to wake him back up. “There is another way,” he whispers reluctantly. </p><p>“Why didn’t you lead with that?”</p><p>“You won’t like it much.”</p><p>This guy was ridiculous. “Will it save your life?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Then hit me.”</p><p>Cas sighs, unwilling to speak. “The spell was very specific. My grace will attack my vessel. This vessel. And only this vessel. So if I were to take another one…” </p><p>“You’ll be fine,” Dean finishes. Well, that doesn’t seem too difficult. “So where are we going to find you a new meat suit? Just head into town and ask?”</p><p>Cas shakes his head. “Only certain bloodlines can be vessels. We’ll be very lucky to find one just walking around. Dean, there’s a reason I came back to the bunker rather than try to find one of Jimmy’s relatives.”</p><p>Cas trails off and leaves it for Dean to fill in the blanks. Dean continues to look at him, confused. </p><p>“You and Sam were designed to be the perfect vessels for Michael and Lucifer. If you can hold an archangel, you’ll be able to hold me.”</p><p>This time it’s Dean’s turn to be speechless. “You want to ride my meat?” he squeaks after slightly too long, then winces at his phrasing. </p><p>“I can use Sam if you’re not willing. I won’t ask you to do something you’re uncomfortable with.”</p><p>Damn Cas. Even on his deathbed, he’s trying not to be an inconvenience. </p><p>“Ugh, Sam’s not here. What am I going to do?” Dean whispers to himself, but Cas still hears. </p><p>“Dean, I understand you have some reservations, but I assure you, I’m not like Michael. I won’t use your body to commit any atrocities, and I’ll let you go as soon as my old vessel is healed.”</p><p>“How long will that take?”</p><p>“A few weeks at most.”</p><p>Dean wishes he had more time to think, but Cas is getting paler by the second, the color draining out of him and onto Dean’s hands. “Oh, what the hell. I’ve got nothing in the diary for a couple days. Yes.”</p><p>Cas smiles a weak, but relieved smile and shifts in Dean’s arms to sit up slightly, wincing with every movement. Dean adjusts his grip to support Cas’s head as it lulls on his shoulders. </p><p>“I warn you, with my grace as weakened as it is, it won’t survive for long outside of a body.</p><p>“What does that mea—”</p><p>Dean barely has time to register the fact Cas has firmly pressed their lips together before he feels the familiar sensation of grace entering his body. <br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/>For Cas, the process is almost instantaneous. One second he’s struggling to breathe, every movement agony, the next, he’s catching the torn body pressed to his as it suddenly goes limp. </p><p>He struggles to keep ahold of the body as his grace floods every inch of his new vessel, making its way from his mouth down to his new heart, then spreading out to caress his fingertips and tickle at his feet. </p><p>The sudden relief from the pain has him sitting back on his heels, his head back and panting, a small smile tugging at his lips. </p><p>
  <em>“Dude, did you just have an orgasm?”</em>
</p><p>Cas whips his head around trying to locate the source of the voice, but the bunker shows no other signs of life. </p><p>
  <em>“‘Cause if never had anyone come from just a kiss before. I know I’m good, but I’m not that good.”</em>
</p><p>Cas realizes the voice is familiar. Achingly familiar. He picks up the prone body in his arms and looks at it quizzically.</p><p>“Dean?” His first word in his new vessel comes out much lower than Dean’s usual register. </p><p>
  <em>“Why would I be in there, dumbass? Up here, where I’ve always been.”</em>
</p><p>Cas rolls his eyes up, as if trying to see into his own brain.</p><p>“What? How are you…?”</p><p>
  <em>“Still kicking? No idea. This is your area of expertise, man.”</em>
</p><p>Cas pauses for a minute. He’s never heard of a vessel remaining conscious during possession, not involuntarily anyway. </p><p>“My only guess is that my grace is too weak to suppress you fully.”</p><p>
  <em>“Huh. Fine by me. Getting blackout drunk and forgetting an evening is one thing, but losing a whole month? That would mess with my head, man. Plus, I get to supervise what you’re getting up to with my meat suit. Don’t want you getting me any weird tattoos, or whatever it is you angel folks do in your free time.”</em>
</p><p>“Why would I do that, Dean?”</p><p>
  <em>“I dunno. You did it to your old body. Speaking of, he’s not looking too hot down there.”</em>
</p><p>In all his surprise of finding he had a co-pilot tagging along, he had almost forgotten his reason for taking a new vessel in the first place. He looks down at Jimmy Novak’s unmoving form and gets a good look at his injuries from the outside for the first time. Somehow, it is worse than he imagined. </p><p>“Right. I should probably move him, but, hmm…” Cas pauses for a second to think, and tries to wrap his head around the situation. “I won’t be able to lift him. With my grace depleted, I won’t have my full angelic strength.”</p><p>
  <em>“You know, quite frankly I’m insulted, Cas. You don’t think I can lift a body? Do you even know what I do for a day job? I’ve moved more dead bodies than I have friends still living. Wow, that’s actually really sad, shouldn’t be bragging about that. C’mon, get lifting.”</em>
</p><p>Cas gets to his feet. Even with this small movement, he’s able to assess his new vessel. He’s only an inch or so taller, so his proportions aren’t too far off, but his new legs are bowed in a way he’s not used to and it takes him a minute to get his footing. </p><p>He puts one arm around the shoulders, and one under the knees and heaves, groaning under the strain. </p><p>
  <em>“Jeez, Cas, what have you been eating?”</em>
</p><p>“Historically, nothing.”</p><p>
  <em>“Well, you’re heavy as all hell. You gain all your muscles harp playing or something?”</em>
</p><p>“You know I don’t have a harp. Now, are you going to help, or just make pointless comments?”</p><p>
  <em>“Hey, I’d help if I could, but you’re the one driving right now. So, come on. Lift with your knees, there you go.”</em>
</p><p>Cas just about manages to pick up the empty vessel and struggles across the room to the map table. With a thud, he drops it, enjoying the instant relief it gives his sore muscles. </p><p>
  <em>“Go easy on him! Poor guy’s beaten up enough as it is!”</em>
</p><p>“He can’t feel anything, Dean. And what’s one more bruise?”</p><p>They both look down at the battered body in front of them and wince. </p><p>
  <em>“Well, what now, Cas?”</em>
</p><p>“We’ll just wait for my grace to reform.”</p><p>Cas sits at the table and clasps his hands in front of him. When he doesn’t move for an entire minute, Dean huffs loudly. </p><p>
  <em>“So, we just sit here, doing nothing?”</em>
</p><p>“Essentially.”</p><p>
  <em>“Oh, hell no. You might be happy with watching paint dry, but I’m not. Gotta keep busy.”</em>
</p><p>“What would you suggest?”</p><p>
  <em>”I dunno, man. Anything.”</em>
</p><p>“We could clean up all the mess by the stairs.”</p><p><em>“Ugh, fine!”</em> Dean chuckles at the mess at the foot of the stairs. <em>“You always know how to make an entrance, huh?”</em></p><p>“It was not my intention to fall down the stairs. I was on the brink of death.”</p><p>Cas makes his way to the storage cupboard to gather the cleaning supplies; a mop and bucket, and some bleach. </p><p>
  <em>“You still had enough energy left to make out with me, though.”</em>
</p><p>Cas freezes. In all the fuss, he’d forgotten about that little detail. </p><p>“Uhm, it wasn’t exactly a kiss, it was a lifesaving procedure. It was more like… CPR.”</p><p>
  <em>“I mean, I get it, man, I’m cute as hell, but just, like, warn a guy before you start macking out on him.”</em>
</p><p>“I did, Dean. I literally said the words ‘I warn you.’”</p><p>
  <em>“Yeah, well. Be more specific next time.”</em>
</p><p>“I apologize. Next time I kiss you, I’ll inform you first.”</p><p>Dean stammers, as much as it is possible for someone who isn’t physically speaking to stammer. <em>“Wait, no, that’s not what I meant. Don’t kiss me. Besides, I thought it wasn’t a kiss?”</em></p><p>“It wasn’t. I wouldn’t— Never mind. It won’t happen again.”</p><p>
  <em>“Right. Glad we got that settled.”</em>
</p><p>Cas looks down at his feet and shuffles his shoes across the linoleum. </p><p>Dean snaps him out of his trance. <em>“So, uh. Cleaning?”</em></p><p>“Yes, cleaning,” Cas breathes, relieved for the distraction. </p><p>Cas picks up the fallen cabinets one at a time, lamenting his weakened grace for how long it takes to lift them all and shoves the scattered papers back into the drawers at random. With the floor cleared, he pours the bleach into the water bucket and proceeds to wipe down the already-drying blood on the floor. </p><p>
  <em>“Ugh, how can you clean without any music, man? Cleaning is boring enough as it is, gotta have some tunes.”</em>
</p><p>“I’m perfectly content.”</p><p>
  <em>“Well, I’m not.”</em>
</p><p>Dean starts to hum a tune Cas doesn’t recognize. It starts slow but gradually increases in volume until he’s sure Dean would be headbanging if he could. </p><p>“What song is that?” he asks once Dean is done. </p><p>
  <em>“Stairway to Heaven! How can you not know it? I play it all the time!”</em>
</p><p>Cas searches through his memory for times he’s heard that song before. If he remembers correctly, it’s on the mixtape Dean made him. “Hmm, perhaps it is familiar. I’m used to hearing it in tune, so forgive me for not recognizing it.”</p><p><em>“How dare you. My singing is beautiful,” </em>Dean scoffs.</p><p>“Dean, you were off-key even in your own head.”</p><p><em>“I’d like to see you do better, sunshine,” </em>he challenges. </p><p>“No.”</p><p>Cas ignores his consequent insults and digs at his character and goes back to wiping a particularly stubborn stain on the floor. Dean eventually gives up and goes back to singing, now increased in volume and even more screechy than before. The voice in his head is so loud, he doesn’t hear the bunker’s front door open or the newcomer enter until Sam is right next to him. </p><p>“Oh, good evening, Sam.”</p><p>Sam regards him with curiosity, years of living in tight quarters and hunting shape-shifting monsters having trained him to notice the smallest differences in his companions. </p><p>“Are you okay?” he asks hesitantly. </p><p>“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”</p><p>Sam reaches for the gun tucked in his waistband and points it squarely at Cas’s chest. His demeanor instantly changes from friendly to antagonistic. </p><p>“Oh, let me think. For one, you’re just casually mopping the floor, something my brother would never do. Two, your voice is completely off. Dean doesn’t talk like that. And—”</p><p>Sam’s eyes drift away briefly as he catches sight of a bloodstained trench coat laying on the map table. </p><p>His voice hardens and he tightens his grip on the gun. “Alright, who are you, and what have you done to Cas?”</p><p>Cas tilts his head to the side, confused by his sudden hostility, before gasping in realization. “Oh, right. I forgot humans can’t see grace. Sam, <em>I</em> am Castiel. My vessel was damaged, so I needed to take another one. Dean volunteered.”</p><p>
  <em> “I wouldn’t say ‘volunteered.’ I didn’t exactly have a choice. You would have died, man.” </em>
</p><p>Sam purses his lips, unconvinced. “Oh yeah, well if you’re Cas, then I guess you won’t mind if I do this.”</p><p>Sam adjusts his aim on the gun and points it at Cas’s leg. Before he has time to react, Sam pulls the trigger, his shoulder bucking with the recoil. </p><p>A sharp pain radiates from Cas’s thigh. </p><p><em> “Oh, god damn, son of a bitch, that hurts. Screw you, asshole!” </em>Dean curses, even though Sam can’t hear him. </p><p>Cas’s hands fall to his leg as he folds in pain. He presses his palm over the wound to try and stop the bleeding, but it does little good. “Perhaps I should have specified. I <em> am </em>Cas, but my grace is very weak, so while a bullet won’t kill me, it still hurts. </p><p><em> “A frigging bullet, Sammy? Could just poke me with a silver knife? Shower me in holy water? Such a dick,” </em>he continues his never-ending stream of complaints. </p><p>“That’s sure convenient.”</p><p>“It’s the truth.”</p><p>“Okay, then,” Sam scoffs, not believing him at all. “Prove it.”</p><p>Sam doesn’t lower his aim on the gun as Cas walks over to his former vessel, limping significantly from the gunshot wound and mentally sighing at the new blood staining the floor he just mopped. He retrieves his angel blade from his trench coat pocket and, with a deep breath to steady himself, he cuts a small slice to his palm, just deep enough for the blue-white light of his grace to weakly shine through. </p><p>He holds his palm out to Sam. “See? An angel. Just about, anyway.”</p><p>Sam finally lowers his gun, slowly, like he doesn’t quite believe it yet. </p><p>“Cas?”</p><p>“That’s what I’ve been telling you.”</p><p>“What the hell happened?”</p><p>Cas fills him in on the encounter with the pissed-off witch and the subsequent possession of his brother. </p><p>“Wow, okay. Guess I picked the wrong afternoon to go out, huh?” he says with a light chuckle. “So, you’re wearing Dean for a few weeks, then?”</p><p>Cas nods. “Give or take. I’m not sure how long it will take. It’s going to be a very delicate process. If I use too much of my grace healing my old vessel, I could burn it all out and be stuck in Dean as a human. But if I don’t heal it fast enough, it will start to succumb to decomposition and I will not be able to inhabit it again and I’ll be stuck in Dean, anyway.”</p><p>
  <em> “Wait, whoa whoa whoa whoa, that wasn’t in the terms and conditions!” </em>
</p><p>“Decomposition?”</p><p>“Yes, Sam. An empty vessel is essentially a corpse.”</p><p>“And you just left it on the table? Cas, that’s gross!”</p><p>
  <em> “Okay, circling back to ‘you could get stuck in me.’ What the hell, man!” </em>
</p><p>“It’s not a big deal.”</p><p>
  <em> “Not for you maybe, you’ll be fine. I’m the one who’s getting screwed over here!”</em>
</p><p>“Uh, yeah it is. We eat there, Cas!”</p><p>“Oh, sorry, I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to Dean.”</p><p>Sam does a double-take at that information. “Wait, Dean is still in there? Prove it, say something only Dean would say.”</p><p>Dean, at that moment, was saying a whole load of expletives, cursing Cas out for not letting him read the fine print first. <em> “I dunno, tell him ‘boobs’ or something. Stop trying to change the subject, I’m still mad at you here.”</em></p><p>“No, Dean, I’m not going to say that. Or that. Or that. Dean, none of this is appropriate.”</p><p>Sam chuckles. “Yeah, that sounds like Dean.”</p><p>“Your brother is very annoying.”</p><p>“Don’t I know it.”</p><p>They smile at each other over their shared grievance. </p><p>“Anyway, did I pass the interrogation? Am I free to go?” Cas queries. </p><p>“Oh, right, yeah. Of course.” Sam gestures vaguely with his hand toward the door. </p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>Cas limps from the map room and heads toward the nearest bathroom. </p><p>
  <em> “Where are we going?”</em>
</p><p>“We need to dress these wounds,” he replies as he pushes open the door. </p><p>
  <em> “Can’t you just heal yourself?”</em>
</p><p>“What part of ‘weakened grace’ are you not getting?”</p><p>
  <em> “Hey! Don’t use my fingers to do your stupid air quotes. Just get the first aid kit.”</em>
</p><p>Cas stands on his tiptoes to reach the box above the bathroom cabinet. He opens it to reveal a well-stocked kit, complete with antiseptic wipes, he’s pleased to note. He’s glad they’ve upgraded from pouring straight liquor on themselves. </p><p>He opens the wipe and cleans the wound on his hand with it, wincing slightly at the sting. He throws the soiled wipe in the trash can then starts to unbuckle his pants.</p><p>
  <em> “Whoa there, pal! What are you doing?”</em>
</p><p>Cas drops his hands and tries to reason with the voice in his head. </p><p>“I need to clean the bullet wound, too. I’ve spared enough grace to stop the bleeding, but I can’t waste any more on something non-fatal. It will need stitches.”</p><p>
  <em> “So, you’re just going to strip me naked? Buy me dinner first, buddy.”</em>
</p><p>Cas sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose with his good hand. “Dean, are you embarrassed by nudity?”</p><p>Dean laughs with cocky bravado. <em> “Not usually. Not around a pretty lady. But it’s kind of weird for two guys to be naked around each other. We just… don’t do that.”</em></p><p>“Ah, yes, you don’t watch porn in a room full of dudes, and you don’t talk about it.” His mind swims with the very educational video he watched many years prior about a pizza man and a misbehaving babysitter. He never did find out precisely what she had done wrong. </p><p>
  <em> “Exactly.”</em>
</p><p>“If it makes you feel better, I’ve seen you naked before.”</p><p>
  <em> “Umm, no. That absolutely does not make me feel better. When? You been perving on me?”</em>
</p><p>He resists the urge to sigh again. Father give him strength. “When I pulled you out of hell, I rebuilt your body from the atoms up.”</p><p><em> “You were out here sculpting my dick like Play-Doh before you even said</em> <em>‘hello’ to me? Buddy, you’ve got your priorities wrong.”</em></p><p>“I assure you, I took no more time sculpting your genitalia than I did your kidneys.”</p><p>
  <em> “Well, that’s good to know, I guess. Alright. You can take my pants off, but the boxers stay in place. Don’t look at my junk.”</em>
</p><p>“Of course.” Cas unbuckles his jeans, ignoring Dean’s comment to ‘watch his fingers’, and kicks them off to the other side of the room, taking the fluffy socks with them. He assesses the wound in front of him. It’s a clean shot, right to the meat of his thigh, stopping before it hit bone. The bullet is still visible, which will make his next job easier. </p><p>He takes a pair of stainless steel tweezers from the first aid kit and douses them in antiseptic solution, then pours some on the wound and immediately regrets it. The pain that results was almost as bad as the gunshot itself. </p><p>
  <em> “Is it Torture Tuesday or something, today? What is with the two of you? Jeez, I just wanted one nice day, just one, but no, I had to get myself possessed, didn’t I?”</em>
</p><p>“Sorry, Dean, but it is necessary,” he says through gritted teeth. “I can’t waste my grace healing an infection right now.</p><p>
  <em> “Okay, I forgive you, so long as you go easy with the tweez—ah!”</em>
</p><p>Dean hadn’t noticed Cas preparing the tweezers until they were already poking into his aching wound. It takes Cas a few attempts to get a grip on the bullet, causing Dean to scream in pain every time, but finally, he manages to pull it from his thigh and sets it with a clank into the sink. </p><p><em> “Right, you are so </em>un<em>forgiven. Worst friend ever, you are. If there was an award, for Worst Person In The World, you would win. You’re such a— what the hell are you doing with that? Get that away from me!”</em></p><p>Cas sets down the needle he’d just picked up from the kit and sighs. “Dean, we discussed this. It may be several days until my grace is strong enough to heal this, so in the interim, we have to do this the human way. You’ve had countless stitches before, why are you making such a deal of it?”</p><p>
  <em> “I usually have a bottle of whiskey to ease the pain, but you seem dead-set on hurting me and are making me do this sober!”</em>
</p><p>“Alcohol won’t help. My grace will burn it out.”</p><p>
  <em> “Oh, great. Not enough grace to heal a bullet wound, but enough to make stitching it hurt. Friggin’ wonderful, Cas.” </em>
</p><p>“My apologies. Now, if you sit still, this will hurt less.”</p><p>He can feel Dean trying to retreat into a dark corner of his mind to not have to face the upcoming agony but to no avail. Dean wishes for the first time that he wasn’t conscious during this possession. It’s strange; he can read Dean’s subconscious thoughts as well as the words he lets Cas hear. </p><p>Cas picks up the needle again and threads it with the surgical-grade suture. At the last minute, he crosses the room to retrieve his belt. He folds it a few times and places it in his mouth. </p><p>The first press of the needle into his already sensitive flesh has him instantly biting down on the leather. Unfortunately, there is nothing to stop Dean’s internal monologue of colorful expletives. </p><p>Five shaky stitches later, he ties off the thread and looks down at his handiwork. It’s by no means perfect, but he consoles himself with the fact it won’t be permanent. He finds a dressing big enough and removes it from its packaging, then presses it gently to his sore leg. </p><p>
  <em> “—damn, son of a bitch, motherf—”</em>
</p><p>“Dean! I’m done!”</p><p>Dean cuts himself off and looks through Cas’s eyes down at his new bandage. <em> “Oh, yeah. Good job, buddy. Well, pat on the back for us, I think we handled that like champs.”</em></p><p>Cas doesn’t even bother to reply. He puts the first aid kit back above the cabinet and gathers the ruined jeans in a ball, not worrying about creases, and leaves the bathroom, only limping slightly. </p><p>Thankfully, he doesn’t encounter Sam on his way back to the bedroom, so he doesn’t have to explain his half-naked state. It’s not until he rounds the last corner that Dean realizes where they are. </p><p>
  <em> “Wait. We’re going to my room?”</em>
</p><p>“Yes,” he replies bluntly. </p><p>
  <em> “Why?”</em>
</p><p>“It’s where all your clothes are. I don’t have any in my room, and I thought you’d be happier in your own clothes, anyway.”</p><p><em> “That’s very considerate of you.” </em>Considering you just stabbed me repeatedly, he thinks subconsciously, but Cas pretends not to notice. </p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>Cas opens the door to Dean’s room, heads straight to the drawers, and starts rummaging. He finds a pair of blue jeans that look practically identical to the pair he just took off and pulls them on, taking extra care when doing up the button to not touch anything. </p><p>He goes to take off his flannel, but the voice in his head has something to say about that, too.</p><p>
  <em> “Why are you getting me naked again? There’s no bullet hole in this shirt! It’s fine!”</em>
</p><p>Cas moves to stand in front of the mirror to let Dean see himself for the first time. “Is it?”</p><p>Dean had forgotten clutching Cas’s dying body to his own and forgotten the blood seeping out of him onto his own clothes. </p><p>He stared at the bloodstains in disgust. <em> “Yeah, fair point. Okay, same rules as before. No peeking, and no rubbing my nipples.”</em></p><p>“Why would I—?” Cas starts then decides against it. Dean was just being ridiculous, as usual. </p><p>Cas shrugs off the flannel, then the undershirt, which is also spotted with blood, and picks up the first T-shirt he finds in the drawer and puts it on. He opens Dean's wardrobe to see a frankly alarming array of plaid shirts, in almost every color imaginable.  </p><p>He grabs the first one his hand reaches, but he can instantly feel Dean disapproving.</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>
  <em> “Nothing. It’s just… that shirt with that flannel? They don’t really go.”</em>
</p><p>“You color-coordinate your outfits? I was under the impression you just wear whatever.”</p><p>
  <em> “Rude. I just like to take some pride in my appearance, you know? Well, you probably don’t. You’ve worn the same outfit for like, ten years. Try the green one.”</em>
</p><p>Cas picks the nearest green plaid shirt and takes the hanger off the rail. </p><p>
  <em> “No, not that one.”</em>
</p><p>“You said green.”</p><p>
  <em> “The other green one. That one has red accents.”</em>
</p><p>“And that matters?”</p><p>
  <em> “Yes!”</em>
</p><p>Cas runs his hand across three more green shirts before he finds the one Dean means and puts it on.</p><p>“Happy?”</p><p>He stands back in front of the mirror and runs his eyes up and down his new body. To him, Dean looks exactly the same as before, but as always, Dean has an opinion. </p><p>
  <em> “Hmm, I dunno, let me see it from the back.”</em>
</p><p>Cas turns around and looks over his shoulder. </p><p>
  <em> “Oh yeah, these jeans always make me look good.”</em>
</p><p>Cas snaps his head back to the front. “Dean, did you just use me to check out your ass?”</p><p><em> “Yep,” </em>he smirks, unashamed. </p><p>An hour into this new body and he was already hating it. This was going to be a long month. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Two-faced</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning for Bridgerton season 1 spoilers, which isn’t something I thought I’d ever have to write in a Supernatural fanfiction. Also, completely made up spell ingredients.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cas leaves Dean’s room, and hopefully, Dean’s nonsense, behind him. His former vessel is exactly where he left it, lying motionless on the table. Sam scrapes at his plate with his cutlery on one of the side tables on the other side of the room with his back to the vessel. </p><p>“Hey, Dean,” Sam greets. Cas tilts his head to the side and squints his eyes in confusion. “<em>Cas, </em> sorry,” he winces. </p><p>“It’s quite understandable. This must be very strange to you.”</p><p>Sam huffs a breathy laugh. “Yeah, little bit.”</p><p>Sam’s eyes flicker down from his face to feet and assess all the differences he sees in his brother’s body. How he’s standing up slightly straighter, his shoulders pushed back. How his hands are hanging stiffly at his sides rather than shoved into his pockets, and his feet are only shoulder-width apart instead of their usual broad stance.</p><p>“Sam, might I ask you a favor?” Cas interrupts his scrutiny. </p><p>“Uh, yeah, shoot.”</p><p>“Can you help me move my vessel?”</p><p>“Umm, sure. I’m done with dinner anyway.”</p><p>Sam sets down his cutlery and joins Cas at the map table. Cas directs Sam to the top end of the vessel, while he takes the feet. Dean gags when he sees the bone sticking through the leg again. </p><p>
  <em> “Man, why do we have to take the gross end?” </em>
</p><p>“Because Sam is stronger than you.”</p><p>Sam looks up at the sound of his name but quickly realizes that Cas isn’t talking to him. He still preens under the praise, though. </p><p>
  <em> “What? No, he isn’t!” </em>
</p><p>“Yes, he is. And besides, I don’t want to pull the stitches doing any heavy lifting.”</p><p>Sam grimaces. “Sorry again for shooting you.”</p><p>“I don’t believe you apologized the first time.”</p><p>“Oh. Sorry.”</p><p>
  <em> “Tell Sammy he can shove his apology up his ass! As soon as I get my body back, I’m returning the favor!” </em>
</p><p>“Dean says he’d appreciate it if you didn’t shoot him again in the future.”</p><p>Sam raises his eyebrows, doubtful. “Were those his actual words?”</p><p>“Uh, no.”</p><p>Sam chuckles. “Didn’t think so. I promise not to shoot you again, okay?”</p><p>
  <em> “Laugh all you want now, asshat, ‘cause you’re about to be in a world of pain.” </em>
</p><p>“He says thank you.”</p><p>“Sure he did.”</p><p>Sam and Cas make their way down the corridors, slowly due to excess weight they’re carrying, and head to Cas’s bedroom. Cas goes to set down his end, but Sam hesitates. </p><p>“You’re just going to put him on the bed?”</p><p>Cas squints at him. “It seemed a better option than the floor.”</p><p>“Yeah, I get that, I just mean, he’s still kind of bleeding.”</p><p>Cas looks at the small trail of blood behind them and sighs when he realizes he’s going to have to mop all that up, too. “Hmm. I guess we could put something down. Do you have some tarp?”</p><p>“No, I don’t think so.”</p><p>“What sort of serial killer are you if you don’t have any tarp?”</p><p>
  <em> “Hey, I’m not a serial killer!” </em>
</p><p>“The kind that burns the bodies, usually,” Sam admits sheepishly. </p><p>“Of course. Oh well, I’ll just clean the sheets later.”</p><p>Sam rearranges his grip and sets down his end of the body, Cas following with his shortly afterward. Sam catches sight of the alarm clock on the dresser and jolts. He checks his phone to confirm the time’s correct. </p><p>“Crap. It’s later than I thought. I’d better head to bed.”</p><p>Cas nods at him. “We’ll see you in the morning.”</p><p>Sam raises his hand in a sort of half-wave and leaves for his bedroom. </p><p>Cas stares after him for a moment, then turns back to his vessel. He hovers his hand over the length of the body, a faint, flickering light emanating from his palm. He frowns. </p><p><em> “So, what’s up, Doc?” </em>Dean asks in a silly voice Cas recognizes from an old cartoon he watched once. </p><p>“Three broken ribs, one broken hip, compound fracture to the left shin. Multiple lacerations to the skin, exposed small intestine, internal bleeding, completely severed pancreas, several other organs partially destroyed.” Much worse than he thought. How he had managed the three and a half hour drive from Omaha in this state, he would never know. </p><p>
  <em> “Yikes. Any part of you not chopped to bits?” </em>
</p><p>“The fourth toe on my right foot is entirely unscathed.”</p><p>
  <em> “Hallelujah.” </em>
</p><p>Cas presses two fingers to the body’s sternum. The faint yellow light that comes out crackles like static for a few seconds before Cas cuts it off with a shuddering breath. </p><p>Dean regards the body. <em> “What did that do? He looks no different.” </em></p><p>“I’m just counteracting the decomposition. I’ll heal the wounds more later.”</p><p>
  <em> “How often are you going to have to do that?” </em>
</p><p>“Two or three times a day should do it.”</p><p>Cas adjusts the pillows around his vessel’s head, then takes off the shoes. It’s pointless, he knows, but he thinks the vessel should be comfortable. </p><p>
  <em> “So, anyways. It’s getting late, we should probably get some shut-eye, too, huh?” </em>
</p><p>He sets the shoes neatly next to the bed. “Dean. I don’t need to sleep. I’m an angel,” Cas reminds him. </p><p>
  <em> “You’ve slept before when you’re weakened.” </em>
</p><p>“Not this time.”</p><p>
  <em> “Your grace is pretty inconsistent, man. Very deus ex machina.” </em>
</p><p>Cas doesn’t know what he’s talking about, so he takes a seat in the chair at the desk and cradles his hands in his lap. </p><p><em> “So…” </em>Dean prompts<em>. “What do you normally get up to when we’re asleep? I don’t think I’ve ever asked.” </em></p><p>Cas spots a hangnail on his left hand and tries to pick at it to make it go away, but ends up making it worse instead. “Sometimes I work on the case, if we have one, but usually I just watch Netflix. I’ve become quite addicted lately,” he admits quietly.</p><p>
  <em> “Oh yeah? What you binging right now?” </em>
</p><p>“I’ve actually just finished Parks and Recreation and I was about to start a new show. It’s called Bridgerton. Have you heard of it?”</p><p>
  <em> “Ugh, that cheesy Jane Austen Gossip Girl crossover? That’s what you’re into?” </em>
</p><p>Cas walks back to Dean’s room, regardless of Dean’s whining. He sits on the bed and opens Dean's laptop, the facial recognition immediately letting him in. He can feel Dean’s relief when there are no tabs left open and his history has been fully deleted. Cas navigates to the Netflix tab and types in the search bar. Sensing defeat, Dean sighs. </p><p>
  <em> “Fine. I’ll watch it. But I’ll complain the whole time.” </em>
</p><p>“Oh, that would be new.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Eight episodes later, Cas emerges from Dean’s bedroom. He heard Sam get up about half an hour ago, but he wanted to finish the final episode before joining him. </p><p><em> “No, you don’t get it, Cas. He </em> burns <em> for her!” </em>Dean insists passionately as Cas closes the laptop and sets it back on the desk. </p><p>“Yes, I know, Dean. I was watching it too. What <em> I </em>don’t understand is how none of those women know anything about reproduction. They were all grown adults, at least in their twenties, if not their thirties. Is this not something you teach children?”</p><p>
  <em> “Things were different back then, I don’t know. But, ugh! They were perfect for each other! And episode six? Hey-o!” </em>
</p><p>“Dean,” Cas admonishes. He had wanted to skip that particular montage, but Dean insisted on watching the whole thing. </p><p>
  <em> “What can I say? Chicks named Daphne are hot.” </em>
</p><p>They make a pit stop in Cas’s room to give Jimmy a blast of grace before heading to the kitchen. He nods at Sam, who is just finishing up his breakfast. </p><p>“Heya, Cas,” Sam greets. </p><p>
  <em> “What, I don’t get a ‘hello?’” </em>
</p><p>“Dean says hello, too.”</p><p>“Oh, right. Hey, Dean.”</p><p>
  <em> “One day and he’s already forgotten me. How is that possible? He’s literally looking at my face!” </em>
</p><p>“So, what’s the plan today, then?” Sam asks as he chucks his plate in the sink.</p><p>Cas scrunches his eyebrows into a small frown. “Try to find the counterspell.”</p><p>“Right. Obviously. So what do we know?”</p><p>Cas leans back on the table and rests his hands, palms down, next to him. He searches his memories for any details that might be important.</p><p>“Well, the spell was in Latin, which doesn’t narrow it down much. She knew I was an angel, so she probably has some advanced detection abilities. She’s immensely powerful, a spell like that can’t have been easy. She was wearing very expensive clothes and had a logo on her handbag, some designer, but I can’t place which one. And she had a band around her wrist. It was purple, and sort of poofy. It could be the symbol of her coven.”</p><p>Sam chuckles. “It’s just a scrunchie, Cas. It’s a fashion thing.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“But the rest is a good start,” Sam says quickly, sensing his disappointment. “This was in Omaha, right? I’ll start looking up any known covens or activity in that area. I’ll check in with some other hunters, see if they’ve ever heard of this.”</p><p>“Of course. I’ll check the bunker’s archives for any reference to that spell.”</p><p>“Great. I’ll check in with you later.”</p><p>Sam gets up and leaves, his fingers already typing rapidly across his phone. </p><p>
  <em> “Oh, wonderful. A day reading dusty, old books. Somehow today is worse than yesterday.” </em>
</p><p>They stop at Dean’s room, at his request, to pick up his phone and check his messages before heading down to the archive room. Luckily, it is well-alphabetized so it is easy to find the box labeled ‘Angels’. He opens it and finds several files, documenting everything the Men of Letters ever discovered about angels, which isn’t much. He skips past Abilities, Personality, and Fighting Styles to Weaknesses and starts reading. </p><p>He sits in silence for about half an hour before Dean speaks. He could feel Dean growing increasingly bored, clicking his tongue, sucking his teeth, and making fart noises, but after he sets aside his third useless file, Dean snaps. </p><p>
  <em> “Ugh! I can’t take this anymore, Cas! Spare me my life from this monstrosity!” </em>
</p><p>Cas sets the book down. </p><p>“Do you wish to be stuck in your own head forever?”</p><p><em> “No,” </em>he grumbles. </p><p>“Then shut up and read.”</p><p>Cas angrily turns the page and skim-reads through the next paragraph. </p><p>
  <em> “Like I have any choice. I see what you see and so far all we’ve learned is that some angels have ticklish spots on their wings. That true?” </em>
</p><p>“...No,” Cas lies. </p><p>
  <em> “Ha! I’m so using that against you one day.” </em>
</p><p>“My wings are not perceivable on this plane of existence, and to see them in their true form would destroy your eyes.”</p><p>
  <em> “It would be worth it to hear you squeal like a little girl.” </em>
</p><p>Cas sets down the book again with more force than before, causing a small thud. “Dean, could you please focus?”</p><p>
  <em> “I mean, I’ll try, man, but you can’t tell me you actually enjoy this.” </em>
</p><p>“If it will allow me peace from you, I’ll read every book in this bunker.”</p><p>Dean gasps like an affronted maiden. <em> “Well, screw you, buddy, I’m a delight.” </em></p><p>“Prove it. Be delightfully quiet.”</p><p><em> “Easy.” </em> Dean mentally mimes zipping his lips closed. Cas picks up the book and starts reading again. </p><p>He manages to read four pages before Dean sighs loudly. </p><p>
  <em> “Alright. You win. I’m a monster.” </em>
</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>
  <em> “It’s not my fault, though. You haven’t given me anything to do.” </em>
</p><p>“You’ve got reading.”</p><p><em> “Something </em>fun.”</p><p>Cas takes Dean’s phone out of his pocket and unlocks it with the thumbprint reader. He taps the Netflix app on the home screen and picks the first thing on his recommended list, some cowboy thing by the looks of the thumbnail. He props the phone up on a pile of discarded folders and watches the opening credits roll. </p><p>
  <em> “That’s your solution? Really?” </em>
</p><p>“Do you have a better solution? Because we can work in silence again if you want.”</p><p><em> “No, no, this is fine,” </em> he says quickly. </p><p>Cas turns back to his book and picks up where he left off. </p><p>
  <em> “Wait, so I don’t actually get to watch it?” </em>
</p><p>This time, Cas doesn’t look up from the book as he replies. </p><p>“I can’t both watch that and do research. You’ll have to just listen to it.”</p><p>
  <em> “Well, that’s bull. Ever heard of a compromise?” </em>
</p><p>“This <em> is </em> a compromise. I’m using my eyes, you can have the ears.”</p><p>
  <em> “That is so not fair.” </em>
</p><p>Cas hovers his finger over the pause button. “One more complaint and you get nothing.”</p><p><em> “You play dirty, Cas,” </em> he grumbles. </p><p>Cas gets several more hours of blissfully quiet research time, interrupted only by selecting the next film to watch, and occasionally telling Dean to stop saying the lines along with the characters. </p><p>Sam knocks courteously on the door but doesn’t wait for an answer before entering. He regards the phone on the table with amusement. </p><p>“Didn’t know you were an Eastwood fan, Cas?”</p><p>Cas pauses the screen on a very generic-looking desert wide-shot. </p><p>“I’m not. Dean’s watching it.”</p><p><em> “I’m friggin’ trying to,” </em>Dean mutters venomously.</p><p>Sam chuckles. “So, you got anything?”</p><p>“Nothing yet. You?”</p><p>“Same here. I’ll start again tomorrow.”</p><p>“Tomorrow?”</p><p>“Yeah, it's getting late. I could use some shut-eye.”</p><p>Cas checks the time on Dean’s phone. It’s nearly midnight and he only has 3% battery left. </p><p>“Yes, of course. I’ll see you tomorrow.”</p><p>Sam turns on his heels and leaves the room. Cas can hear his footsteps echo up the hallway now he’s not distracted by the film’s music. </p><p><em> “About time we turned in, too, huh?” </em>Dean lets out a big, exaggerated yawn. </p><p>“You know I don’t sleep. I can keep researching.”</p><p>
  <em> “Well, my phone’s about to die so I say we head back to my room to charge it. And while we’re there, how about we don’t leave for, like, eight hours? It's my turn to use the eyes and I want to watch mindless YouTube videos.” </em>
</p><p>Cas sighs. He tabs the page and closes it then crosses the room to switch off the light. “Fine. But no cats.”</p><p>
  <em> “Not a problem.” </em>
</p><p>“And we need to stop by my room first.”</p><p>
  <em> “Ugh!” </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>A week passes in the same pattern: Cas would spend twelve hours researching a cure, then Dean would spend his twelve hours doing whatever he wanted; watching films, mindlessly scrolling through social media, or playing video games. He had to direct Cas on how to hold the controller, which button was shoot, and which made them move. He lost a lot of games at first, but Cas eventually got the hang of it. </p><p>Cas’s grace gradually became stronger, but still had a long way to go. He was able to cure the cut to his palm and the bullet wound, much to Dean's relief. He was tired of wincing every time they moved.</p><p>On day eight of their cohabitation, Cas starts his turn in control as he always does by heading into his room, but instead of his usual two-finger press to his vessel's chest, he heads down to the feet. </p><p>“Dean. You’re not going to like this, but my grace is finally strong enough to heal this body properly, so I’m going to start with this leg.”</p><p><em> “Alright. Get poking, then, buddy,” </em>Dean remarks casually, still thinking about a funny video he just watched of a dog falling in a deceptively deep puddle.</p><p>“You are not understanding. We need to set the bone first.”</p><p>Dean suddenly realizes what’s about to happen. <em> “Friggin’ marvelous.” </em></p><p>Cas slides his hands down the length of the leg, feeling the bone under his hands. It seems a fairly simple break, with no large splinters or cracks. He adjusts his grip on the bottom half of the shin and twists. </p><p>He can feel the bone protest under his hands, the muscle and sinew stretching. A small spurt of blood trickles from the cut, thickened with disuse. </p><p>Dean retches. <em> “Man, you are so lucky I can’t actually be sick up here or your brain would be splattered with puke by now.” </em></p><p>Cas hovers his hand over the wound, fusing the bones together and stitching up the skin with a blast of grace. </p><p>“That’s good. Because tomorrow we’re stuffing his intestines back in.”</p><p>The retching restarts. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Cas closes the last book on angels in the bunker and sighs. There had been nothing the first time he read them, but he read them all again just in case. He shoves the book angrily off the table. With his recently recovered grace, it flies further than he expected and lands with a crash on the floor before skidding towards the door. He drops his head into his hands. </p><p>Sam picks up the book as he enters the room. “No luck, then?”</p><p>Cas snaps his head back up. He hadn’t heard Sam approaching. “Oh, sorry, Sam. No, nothing. You?”</p><p>They have the same conversation every day, and it always goes the same way. Now Sam is going to say ‘Me neither.’</p><p>“Actually, I might have something.”</p><p>Cas and Dean both perk up at this. Sam puts a heavy, leather-bound book on the table, causing it to rattle slightly. The title carved into the front states it to be the spellbook of the Guaire family, a name Cas recognizes as belonging to an ancient coven of witches dating back centuries. He opens it to the page he has bookmarked with a post-it and points to the left-hand page. </p><p>“My Latin isn’t fluent, and Google Translate wasn’t helpful, but I recognize some of the words. Angel, and grace, here. This helpful?”</p><p>Cas eagerly takes the book and runs his eyes across the page. By the second line, he is grinning widely. “Yes, this is it! This is the spell she used! Is there a countersp— Yes!”</p><p>He points at the right side with glee. “It’s all here! Ingredients, quantities, directions! Sam, where did you find this!”</p><p>
  <em> “Wow, Cas, no need to sound so pleased to get rid of me.” </em>
</p><p>“It was filed in the archives under ‘Witches.’”</p><p>“Dammit, of course it was,” Cas curses. </p><p>
  <em> “So we’ve been reading the wrong books for weeks? And you said my video games were pointless.” </em>
</p><p>“What does it say?” Sam asks. </p><p>“It’s a fairly straightforward counterspell, given the strength of the witch who cast the first curse. We should be able to pull it off. We’ll need several ingredients, most of which is we should have in the bunker, some we’ll have to travel for, but the most difficult will be the blood of the witch who cast the first curse.”</p><p>
  <em> “Damn, we have to confront that bitch again?” </em>
</p><p>He sees worry cloud Sam’s face. “Crap. Is she still alive?”</p><p>“Yes. I was distracted while she cast the spell and she got away.”</p><p>Sam sighs in relief. “Okay, that’s good. How are we going to find her? I doubt she’ll still be hanging around in the same place.”</p><p>“If she’s a Guaire, she could have gone back to the family headquarters. I think they have a base in Charleston, or there’s the old ancestral home outside Aberdeen.”</p><p>Sam blinks, impressed. “Wow, you sure know a lot about these guys.”</p><p>
  <em> “Yeah, what are you, a groupie?” </em>
</p><p>“Rowena mentioned them once. I say ‘mentioned’. It was a half-hour rant. One of them stole a spell of hers in 1846 and she’s still not over it.”</p><p>Sam raises the corner of his lip in a smirk. “Huh, glad I missed that one.”</p><p>“Yes, it was quite something. Entirely unprompted, too. She just let herself into my bedroom and started talking. I don’t think I got a word in edgewise.”</p><p>The memory of Rowena storming around his room appears in his mind, as fresh as if it were yesterday. How she paced from side to side, arms flailing, stopping occasionally to point at him for emphasis, before screaming in frustration and slamming the door behind her. </p><p>“Huh. Did she tell you anything useful about these guys?”</p><p>Thankfully, her rant had been quite informative. “They’re one of the oldest covens still living; their oldest member is over a thousand. Even the youngest is several hundred years old. She has a particular grievance with the matriarch, Minna, the one who stole the spell, but she would happily see any of them dead. From Rowena’s descriptions, I think the one I met was her daughter, Inghinn. She’s a bit of a black sheep of the family, always coming up with new schemes the others don’t approve of.”</p><p>“Okay, that’s good. We don’t need a whole family of super-powerful witches coming after us if we take down one of their own. What do we need for the spell?”</p><p>Cas translates the Latin text and writes it down on a scrap piece of paper. “Do you have these?”</p><p>Sam reads the note aloud. “Glowl nuts, dried Aldina berries, powdered eaurgen. Yeah, should do, pretty standard stuff. And the others?”</p><p>Cas points to the next item on the list. “Hysleria root. This is a common ingredient amongst Wiccans in Canada, but it’s less common in the US as it only grows in cold climates. Do you have any idea where we might get it?”</p><p>Sam thinks for a moment before snapping his fingers. “Yeah, I think I know a guy. Everett. Runs a shop up in Seattle. I’ll give him a call, see if he can get it. What about that?” He points to the next one down. </p><p>“That is a small purple flower that only grows in one small field in northern Italy. Once my wings are functional, I can easily retrieve some.”</p><p>
  <em> “Aww, hell no, man, you know zapping places bungs me up.” </em>
</p><p>“You do not need to defecate while I’m in here.”</p><p>Sam’s head snaps up at the sudden change in conversation topic before he realizes Dean must be speaking. He chuckles. </p><p>Cas taps his foot impatiently. “If you would prefer, I could book a ticket on a commercial airline. It would only be about twelve hours in the air.”</p><p>If Dean still had control of his knees, they would be buckling. <em> “Your way’s fine,” </em>he says through gritted teeth. </p><p>“Thank you.” He turns back to Sam, who had been watching the one-sided exchange with a smirk. “We’ll get the blood last. I would like to be at full power before I confront her again.”</p><p>“Sure. Let’s get to work.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The next morning, after Sam's guy confirms he has what they need, they start loading their supplies into the Impala. Dean is pleased to note that he doesn’t have to pack a change of clothes, or any snacks, or even stop to sleep or pee. It would be the easiest road trip ever if he didn’t have to bring his annoying human brother with him. </p><p>“There is one thing we’ll need to bring, Dean,” Cas reminds him after his realization.</p><p><em> “Oh, yeah? What’s that?” </em>Dean asks, confused, thinking he’s forgotten a knife or something. </p><p>“My vessel. I need to heal him multiple times a day, remember?”</p><p>
  <em> “But you’re stronger now, right? Can’t you just give him a big blast when you get back?” </em>
</p><p>“It doesn’t work like that. Normally, an angel can’t possess a corpse at all, because there’s no one there to give consent, but I got Jimmy’s permission before he died, so I can re-enter him at any time, as long as he is freshly dead. If I wait several days, he will be uninhabitable, even if I heal him. I need to keep him in this state or I’ll be stuck in you, and you’ve expressed your displeasure at that idea.”</p><p>
  <em> “Okay, alright, I get the science, but the logistics of carrying around a corpse are a different matter. You usually get weird looks from the locals, man.” </em>
</p><p>“Very well. We will have to keep him in the trunk.”</p><p>
  <em> “Poor bastard.” </em>
</p><p>Cas takes the meager duffel bag of Dean’s phone, charger and headphones and slings it over his back. He turns off the light and shuts the door, then heads over to his room. </p><p>Jimmy, unsurprisingly, hasn’t gone anywhere. All of his wounds have now been healed and, to the untrained eye, he looks like he is merely sleeping. </p><p>He hovers his hand over the length of the body to rid his clothing of the dark brown bloodstains and the numerous tears. He picks up the body bridal style, grateful to note that it is much easier now, even with his grace at around half capacity. </p><p>Sam is just loading the final things in the car when he enters the garage, and nearly drops his smoothies in surprise when he sees what Cas is carrying. </p><p>“He’s coming too, huh?” Sam tries to say nonchalantly. </p><p>“Yes. Is there space in the trunk?”</p><p>“Uhh,” Sam trails off. He opens the trunk and tosses out a few weapons he doubts he’ll need, and moves his duffel and the cooler to the backseat instead. “How's that?”</p><p>Cas lowers his vessel into the new space. It’s snug, but he just about fits if he puts the rock salt-loaded shotgun on top of him. “It’ll do.”</p><p>Cas slams the trunk shut and fishes the car keys out of Dean’s jeans pocket. He sits in the driver's seat and waits for Sam to join him. </p><p>
  <em> “What do you think you’re doing, buddy?” </em>
</p><p>Cas places his hands hesitantly on the steering wheel. “Driving?”</p><p><em> “Yeah, I get that. But </em> my <em> car? I don’t think so. Give the keys to Sam.” </em></p><p>“It makes more sense for me to drive. I won’t get tired.”</p><p>
  <em> “I’ve seen you driving. It’s not pretty. I’m not letting you anywhere near my Baby.” </em>
</p><p>Cas sighs. “Dean, I am a perfectly competent driver. I won’t hurt your car.”</p><p>“You okay, Cas?” Sam asks as he enters the car. </p><p>Cas shakes his head dismissively and points at his head. “I’m fine, your brother is just being a whiny baby.”</p><p>Dean scoffs, affronted. <em> “How dare you. This is… manly protesting.” </em></p><p>“Whining,” Cas reiterates. </p><p>Sam huffs a laugh. “He doesn’t want you driving, huh?”</p><p>“He thinks I am incapable.”</p><p>“Well, I can drive if he prefers. I’ve just found a new podcast series on whale migration I’ve been dying to listen to but haven’t had a chance yet. Four days straight driving should be enough.”</p><p>
  <em> “Oh, hell no. No douchey phone docks in my Baby, and definitely no podcasts.” </em>
</p><p>Cas blinks and turns back to Sam. “Suddenly, he thinks I <em> am </em>capable.”</p><p>“Huh. Strange,” Sam smirks. </p><p>
  <em> “I hate you, Sammy. Actually, both of you. You knew what you were doing.” </em>
</p><p>“I have no idea what you mean.”</p><p>Cas turns the key in the ignition and feels the engine roar to life under his hands. He flicks off the handbrake and shifts into drive. </p><p>The first day of driving goes without a hitch. Sam plugs in his headphones and listens to his podcast anyway. Dean only complains about Cas’s driving for the first hundred miles or so until they’re cruising along the highway, then he switches to singing along loudly to the songs playing on the speakers, only stopping to tell Cas to change the cassette when each one ends. </p><p>They make it to a motel about halfway to Seattle just after nightfall, having only made limited stops at gas station bathrooms for Sam. Cas parks the car between the lines in the parking lot, so perfectly that even Dean can’t complain, and heads around to the trunk. With a quick glance around to check for witnesses, he opens it just far enough to reach in and poke his vessel, hoping the light of his grace isn’t too bright in the dark. </p><p>
  <em> “Well, that didn’t look shifty at all.” </em>
</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>They gather their bags and head to the check-in desk where a bored-looking teenager is scrolling on her phone. She jumps when she hears the bell over the door jingle and tucks her phone back in her pocket. </p><p>“Welcome to The Sunset Motel. How can I help you today?” Her tone of voice indicates she’s said that exact phrase a thousand times before.</p><p>“Two rooms, please. Whatever you have,” Cas beats Sam to reply. </p><p>She checks the ancient computer on the desk next to her for a moment before saying, “We have two double rooms, next door to each other. How does that sound?”</p><p>“Perfect, thank you.”</p><p>Cas pays with money he finds in Dean’s wallet and takes the keys she offers him. He hands one to Sam and heads in the direction she pointed them. Even before they’re out of the door, she’s back on her phone. </p><p>Sam follows Cas out of the check-in office with a little jog. “Hey, why’d you get two rooms? You don’t sleep.”</p><p>“It’s for your sake. Dean is very into watching trash television at 3 a.m. I thought you might want to sleep tonight.”</p><p>Sam hums his appreciation. “That’s nice of you, I guess.”</p><p><em> “Yeah, well, Sam snores, so I don’t want to share a room with him, either.” </em>If it were possible, Dean would be pouting. </p><p>“And you snore.”</p><p>Sam screws up his face and regrets his comment about Cas being nice. </p><p>Instead of following Cas to the motel room, he turns and heads to the other side of the parking lot. “Actually, I saw a diner just down the road, and I’ve eaten nothing but chips all day. I’ll catch up with you in the morning, yeah?”</p><p>Cas raises his hand in a half-hearted wave and unlocks his room for the night. </p><p>
  <em> “Pfft. Can’t even handle a little teasing. Now who’s the whiny baby?” </em>
</p><p>“Still you.”</p><p>
  <em> “Jerk. </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Three’s A Crowd</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>#prayforsam</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the morning, as soon as Sam knocks on Cas’s door, he turns off the TV, grateful to be rid of the canned laughter in a repeat of a nineties sitcom Dean had already watched three times. </p><p>He opens the door and looks out at Sam, now freshly showered and in clean clothes, but standing a little bit crooked due to a night on the questionable motel mattress. </p><p>“Hey, I’m just gonna head back to that diner for breakfast, then we can set off.”</p><p>Cas picks up Dean’s bag by the door and slings it across his back. </p><p>“Actually, I’ll come with you. I could do with some new company.”</p><p>
  <em> “Any other angel would be lucky to have me. Ungrateful ass.” </em>
</p><p>It’s a short walk to the roadside diner. It looks indistinguishable from any other restaurant of its sort Cas has ever seen before, with its checkered floors, neon signs, and lingering coffee stains. There are only a few patrons inside this early in the morning: a young giggling couple with brand-new matching wedding rings on their fingers looking over a map, a withered old trucker with extreme tan lines on his left arm reading a newspaper while tucking into his greasy fried breakfast, and a small boy alone at the table with an iPad. </p><p>Sam greets the waitress, Vicky, according to her name tag, and takes a seat at the table she offers them. She hands them both menus, now filled with breakfast items, and says she’ll be back in a minute with some coffee. </p><p>Cas pretends to look over the menu for appearances’ sake. It has the usual sort of things he’d expect from such an establishment: French toast, eggs, sausage, pancakes and—</p><p><em> “Bacon, Cas,” </em> Dean sighs dreamily. <em>“</em><em>I’d kill for some bacon right now.” </em></p><p>“I don’t need to eat,” Cas reminds him for the thousandth time. </p><p><em> “You don’t eat bacon because you </em> need <em>to. You eat it because you </em> want <em> to.” </em></p><p>“No,” he says firmly. </p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the waitress walk up to the young boy and crouch down to his level. </p><p>“How much longer, Mom?” he whines. </p><p>“A few more hours, sweetie.”</p><p>“I’m bored!” he complains in a tone Cas has come to find very familiar in the last few days. </p><p>“Play that new game I got you, okay? I won’t be long.” She kisses him on the forehead and heads back into the kitchen. </p><p>She returns a few minutes later with a full pot of coffee and two ancient mugs, which she sets in front of them. </p><p>“Have you decided what you’re ordering yet, guys?”</p><p>
  <em> “Please get me some bacon, Cas. I’m dying here.” </em>
</p><p>“An egg white omelet for me, please,” Sam politely orders.</p><p>“And you?” She turns to Cas. </p><p><em> “Bacon</em>, <em> bacon, bacon, bac—” </em></p><p>“Nothing, thank you.”</p><p>
  <em> “Bacon, bacon, ba—” </em>
</p><p>“You sure? We do a killer—”</p><p>“Bacon!”</p><p>The word might have come from Cas’s mouth, but it was not him that said it. Dean stuns himself into silence. </p><p>The waitress quickly snaps herself out of being addressed so abruptly, years of angry customers making her immune to such rudeness. “What bread?”</p><p>Cas stammers for a moment, still processing what just happened. “Umm, white. Please.”</p><p>She jots down the order and disappears back into the kitchen. </p><p>Sam turns to Cas, a disapproving look on his face. “That was kinda rude, Cas.”</p><p>“That wasn’t me.” He notices the trucker across from him eyeing him with interest, so he picks up his menu to cover his face and whispers out of the corner of his mouth. “Dean, what the hell was that?”</p><p>
  <em> “Dude, did I just do that? That’s awesome!” </em>
</p><p>“You were very rude.”</p><p>
  <em> “I didn’t mean it! How was I supposed to know I’d say that out loud? This is so cool! What else can I make you say? Titties, ass, balls, dick—” </em>
</p><p>“Dean, stop that.”</p><p>“You okay over there, Cas?”</p><p>Cas lowers the menu to see Sam’s quizzical face. He looks concerned when he sees the shell-shocked expression on Cas’s face. “Cas? Is everything okay?”</p><p>“It would appear,” Cas starts slowly, trying to hold off the litany of curse words Dean is spewing, “that Dean has gained some element of control over my vessel.”</p><p><em> “Over my own body!” </em>Dean corrects. </p><p>“Wow, really?” Sam blinks. </p><p>“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. He was able to hold off Michael for a time, and I am nowhere near as strong as him. Dean is very strong-willed.”</p><p>“Damn right!” Dean says out loud, then laughs maniacally to himself. “Oh, this is brilliant. I can finally say everything I’ve wanted to say for the last two weeks! Sammy, screw you for shooting me. That hurt like a bitch. And you need a haircut, you’re starting to look even more ridiculous than usual. And podcasts are for girls—”</p><p>Cas slams his hand over his mouth to try and stop the words pouring out but Dean continues, undeterred, even though it comes out muffled and nonsensical.</p><p>Cas takes Dean’s phone out of his pocket with his free hand and quickly types ‘THE WAITRESS!’ in the messages app. He looks up just as she approaches carrying two laden plates. She looks confused as she takes in Cas’s unusual hand placement, but maintains her professional demeanor and doesn’t say anything. When he’s certain Dean has stopped talking, Cas lowers his hand. </p><p>She sets the plates in front of them then steps back. “Can I get you anything else?”</p><p>Dean is silent, like he can’t even trust himself to speak in his head anymore. </p><p>“No, thank you,” Sam eventually answers for them. </p><p>Cas sits and looks at his bacon sandwich for several minutes after the waitress leaves. Sam tucks into his own meal and scrolls through his phone, searching for cases in the area by force of habit. The young couple walks up to the counter to pay, then heads outside to a beat-up Volkswagen camper with a hand-painted ‘Just Married’ sign on the back. </p><p>“Dean? Are you there?” Cas whispers. </p><p>Dean is silent for a few seconds before hesitantly replying <em> “... yes? Okay, I think I’ve got it. Talk like this to say things in your head and like—” </em></p><p>“—This!—”</p><p>
  <em> “—to speak out loud.” </em>
</p><p>Cas tries to cover his mouth again but isn’t quick enough. “Stop it! No speaking out loud! This is my mouth now!”</p><p>
  <em> “Now who’s whining? For a guy with, like, a hundred siblings, you think you’d know how to share better.” </em>
</p><p>“Fine!” he concedes. “You may speak to Sam. When we’re not in public,” he adds sternly when he feels Dean gearing up to speak. </p><p>
  <em> “Ugh, you’re like a bossy mom. Now, are we going to eat that sandwich?” </em>
</p><p>Dean’s thoughts about the sandwich dance between hungry and borderline inappropriate. </p><p>“You won’t like it.”</p><p><em> “I most certainly will,” </em> he insists. </p><p>“Food tastes different as an angel.”</p><p>
  <em> “It smells the same. I’m sure I can handle it.” </em>
</p><p>“On your own head, be it.”</p><p>Cas picks up the slightly cold sandwich with both hands, takes a large bite, and chews. </p><p><em> “Bleugh! Ew! What the hell is that?” </em>Dean tries to spit the food out, but Cas forces his mouth closed. </p><p>He chews smugly for a minute then swallows. “I told you. Food tastes like molecules, now.”</p><p>
  <em> “I’ve seen you eat before. You never look disgusted.” </em>
</p><p>“I’m used to it. You’re not.”</p><p>Cas takes an even bigger bite of the sandwich. </p><p>
  <em> “Why would you do it again?! You’re such a dick.” </em>
</p><p>“You ordered the sandwich. You told me you wanted to eat it. This is on you.”</p><p>Cas eats the rest of the sandwich with a cocky grin on his face. If Sam notices, he doesn’t say anything. </p><p>“Have you learned your lesson yet?” Cas asks once he’s finished the whole thing. </p><p>
  <em> “Yeah, I’ve learned you’re the absolute worst, and I can’t wait to have my own body back so I can slap you.” </em>
</p><p>“Good. I’ve done my job correctly, then.”</p><p>He takes a few bills out of Dean’s wallet, more than enough for the meal and a tip, and leaves them on the table. </p><p>
  <em> “Man, can you stop spending all my money? I earned that.” </em>
</p><p>“You stole it,” Cas reminds him.</p><p>
  <em> “Hey, he placed the bet. Not my fault if I’m better at pool.” </em>
</p><p>Sam waves awkwardly at the waitress as they leave. The trip back to the motel is in silence, other than Dean’s internal grumbling. They check out of the motel, handing the keys over to an elderly man with a seriously intense frown, and head back to the car. With Cas’s usual, exceedingly guilty glance around, he pops the trunk and presses two fingers to his vessel’s forehead before slamming it shut again.</p><p>“Ready to go?” Sam asks. </p><p>“Incredibly.”</p><p>The second day of driving goes much like the first. Cas starts to recognize the cassettes playing from the stereo from repeated use. The landscape remains mostly unchanged for miles; just acres of fields and dirt. Sam sits quietly in his seat, headphones in his ears, staring out the window. </p><p>The cassette finishes. </p><p><em> “Put on the Motörhead one,” </em>Dean demands. </p><p>“No, I like this one. I’d like to hear it again.” He’d grown quite fond of Fleetwood Mac in recent months. Of all of the bands Dean listened to, they were his favorite. </p><p>
  <em> “We’ve had this one three times already. Put on Motörhead.” </em>
</p><p>“No.”</p><p>
  <em> “Please?” </em>
</p><p>“No!” he yells through gritted teeth. </p><p>
  <em> “Why are you being such an ass today? Just do it!” </em>
</p><p>Cas’s right arm jerks forward without his instruction and hits the eject button. He’s so stunned, he forgets to look at the road for a second. Thankfully, they’re on a deserted highway and there’s no one to crash into as he swerves into the other lane. </p><p>Sam’s head snaps up and he removes his headphones when he feels the car jerk back into the correct lane. “Cas? What’s happening?”</p><p>Cas stares down at his right arm, baffled. “It seems your brother is getting stronger. He just moved my arm.”</p><p>“Hell yeah, I did!” Dean says aloud. “Hey, I can do this now!”</p><p>He flips Sam off. </p><p>“Very mature,” Sam complains with a roll of his eyes. </p><p>Cas tries to lower the arm, but can’t seem to connect his neurological pathways to send the message to relax that muscle. </p><p>“Dean, why can’t I move that arm?” </p><p>Cas focuses all of his energy, causing the rest of his body to vibrate slightly, but the arm doesn’t budge. </p><p>
  <em> “Dunno, man. I’m not stopping you.” </em>
</p><p>“Then, could you put it back on the steering wheel? We’re doing eighty.”</p><p>Dean slowly and jerkily puts his hand back on the wheel, like he’s not sure how to do it. </p><p>“What was that about, Cas?” Sam asks. </p><p>Cas pokes at the fingers on his right hand. He can feel the nails digging into his skin, but can do nothing to flinch out of the way. “For some reason, I no longer have control over my right arm.”</p><p>Sam blinks. “You can still speak, even though Dean took control of that.”</p><p>Cas shakes his head. “This makes no sense. He shouldn’t be able to do any of this,” he mutters, more to himself than Sam. </p><p>
  <em> “I’m a man of mystery. And I want to hear Motörhead.” </em>
</p><p>Cas has no choice but to cling onto the steering wheel and focus on the road while his right arm fumbles blindly for the ejected tape. Dean reaches for the box of cassettes in the footwell to set it on his lap and pulls each one out, in turn, to hold in front of his eyes until he finds the right one and puts it in the stereo. </p><p>“This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen,” Sam states with the nonchalance of a man who sees a new weirdest thing of his life every other day and puts his headphones back in. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They arrive at the shop about an hour before closing. It’s on a quiet, unassuming street a few blocks from downtown, nestled between a vintage clothes store and a cheap law firm. Dean uses his newfound ability to put the car in park and pulls up next to the sidewalk.</p><p>“Wow, they’re not subtle about this being a hunters’ shop, are they?”</p><p>Dean regards the outside of the shop in awe. It’s covered top to bottom in glowing sigils, demon warding, and a few others even he doesn’t recognize. </p><p>Sam notices the higher pitch in the voice and knows it’s Dean speaking. He looks at him, confused. “What do you mean?”</p><p>Sam looks through the window at the unassuming merchandise. </p><p>“The sigils?” Dean pulls Sam back and gestures at the outside of the shop. </p><p>“Where?” Sam squints at the weather-worn facade. </p><p>Cas fights his way back into control. “Dean, Sam can’t see them. He’s human.”</p><p>
  <em> “I've got angel vision? Awesome. Hey, are there any demons around? I’ve been dying to know what their true faces look like.” </em>
</p><p>“You’ll know if we see one.”</p><p>Sam opens the shop’s door, causing the chimes next to it to jingle. A middle-aged man in the standard hunter get-up of sturdy jeans and a scuffed leather jacket walks through a beaded curtain a few seconds later, ready to greet the customer, but his face widens into a smile when he sees Sam. </p><p>“Sam Winchester! It’s been too long!” He pulls Sam into a tight hug. </p><p>Sam raises his hands to pat him back. “Hey, Everett. How are you doing?”</p><p>He shrugs. “The old knee’s still giving me jip, but what’s new?”</p><p>He looks over Sam’s shoulder to see Cas loitering on the doorstep, picking at another hangnail. He steps out of the hug and turns to the door. “And this must be the other Winchester. I’ve heard a lot about you, Dean. Come on in. I’ve got your root out back.”</p><p>Cas shuffles his feet on the disheveled welcome mat. “Umm, I can’t come in.”</p><p>“Why not?” Sam probes. </p><p>“The warding.”</p><p>Everett, quick as lightning, pulls a shotgun from under the counter and points it at Cas’s chest. Dean throws up his hand in a defensive gesture. </p><p>“What evil have you brought to my doorstep, Winchester?” he addresses Sam but doesn’t look away from Cas’s face. </p><p>
  <em> “Whoa now.” </em>
</p><p>“It’s fine, that won’t hurt us,” Cas whispers back to him. </p><p>Sam steps between the barrel of the gun and his brother, and speaks calmly, whilst maintaining eye contact. “Okay, easy. That <em> is </em>Dean, he’s just taking an angel along for a ride.”</p><p>“Angel, huh?” Everett snarls. He chucks the shotgun back on the counter and pulls out an angel blade instead. </p><p>Cas puts up his own hand. “<em>That </em>will, though.”</p><p>Sam puts his hand on Everett’s wrist. “It’s just Castiel. Have you heard of him?”</p><p>Everett squints his eyes in recognition but doesn’t relax his stance. “He’s a friend of yours, right?”</p><p>Sam nods. “Yeah, he’s cool. You can trust him.”</p><p>“I mean you no harm.” Cas summons his own angel blade from his sleeve and rolls it across the floor to Everett’s feet. “There. Unarmed.”</p><p>Dean knows it’s a meaningless gesture; Cas could still smite him if he wanted, but Everett seems to trust Cas a bit more now. He picks up the blade and chucks it behind the counter. Without turning his back to Cas, he un-pins a poster labeling the chakras from the wall to reveal a sigil, which he scratches through with the tip of his blade. </p><p>Cas can feel the instant the warding is lowered and he steps into the shop, getting a good look at the inside for the first time. There’s a lot of what Dean would call ‘hippie crap’ around the place; a whole row of crystals and other pretty stones, several packets of incense, and a shelf of every essential oil known to man. </p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>Everett waves the blade at Cas, reminding him to keep his distance. “Don’t go thinking we’re friends, feathers. You stay there. Sam, you can come to the back room.”</p><p>Sam raises his eyebrows in question at Cas, who responds with a curt nod. </p><p>Sam disappears through the beaded curtain. Cas only gets a brief glimpse of the room at the end of the hallway before the door slams shut, but it looks to contain many more legitimate items that a hunter might use, rather than the pseudoscientific homeopathic remedies in the shop. He couldn’t follow even if he wanted; there’s even more warding around the door to that room. </p><p>
  <em> “Ooh, sparkly!” </em>
</p><p>Dean picks up a small piece of amethyst from a display in the middle of the shop and twirls it around his fingers a few times before poking the pointy spikes, reveling in how it doesn’t hurt at all. </p><p>“Dean, put that down,” Cas orders in the same tone he’d once heard a woman in the park use when telling off her misbehaving dog. </p><p>
  <em> “Why?” </em>
</p><p>“Because he barely trusts us as it is. He won’t want us messing around in his shop.”</p><p><em> “You’re no fun,” </em>Dean pouts, but puts it back anyway. </p><p>Cas wanders aimlessly around the shop for lack of anything better to do, running his fingertips over the spotless counters. A small dream catcher on the wall catches Dean’s attention, and he picks it up, bouncing it a few times to make the feathers dance. </p><p>“Dean, no,” Cas says sternly. He takes the dream catcher from Dean and hangs it back on the wall. He slaps the back of Dean’s hand lightly. “Stop it.”</p><p>
  <em> “What am I? A toddler?” </em>
</p><p>“You act like it.”</p><p>
  <em> “Well, two can play at that game, mister.” </em>
</p><p>Dean pulls his hand back and curls it into a fist. Cas catches it just before it connects with his face.</p><p>“Dean!” Cas wraps his stronger, angelic fingers around Dean's wrist and clutches it close to his chest. “That’s it. You can’t be trusted with this.”</p><p>
  <em> “You can’t hold me forever! Eventually, you’re going to have to let go to use your own hand, and when you do, I’m going to poke you in the eye!” </em>
</p><p>Cas sighs. In order to keep Dean from causing any more trouble, he leads them from the shop, and out to the car. </p><p>
  <em> “Hey, where are we going?” </em>
</p><p>“It’s been a while since I healed my vessel,” Cas lies effortlessly. </p><p>
  <em> “Oh yeah? Well, good luck unlocking the trunk with no hands, buddy. I’m brewing up a killer whack for you.” </em>
</p><p>Cas can feel Dean mentally hopping from foot to foot, like a boxer psyching himself up for a match and punching the air in practice. </p><p>Cas looks around. The street is as quiet as when they arrived, only a woman leaving a restaurant with takeout a few shops ahead. She walks away from them, so he decides it’s okay to proceed. </p><p>He quickly adjusts his grip on Dean’s hand and shoves it between his knees, locking it in place. </p><p><em> “Hey!” </em> Dean protests. He pulls with all his might, but Cas easily holds him off. <em> “How are your </em> knees <em> so strong?” </em></p><p>Confident he’s not going anywhere, Cas relaxes his grip and smiles. “CrossFit,” he says, deadpan. </p><p>Cas uses his now free hand to fish the keys out of his pocket and unlock the trunk. He stared down at the body lying under the assorted ammunition and candy wrappers Dean had chucked back there. </p><p>
  <em> “What are you waiting for? Get on with it!” </em>
</p><p>Cas reaches two fingers toward his vessel’s forehead, taps him, then quickly grabs the Enochian-inscribed handcuffs next to his head and snaps one side around Dean’s wrist. </p><p>
  <em> “What the—” </em>
</p><p>Cas lets go for a split second to reach around his back and grab the handcuffs from the other side. He pulls Dean’s wrist behind himself and clips the free side of the cuff to his belt loop. </p><p>
  <em> “Oh, you little—” </em>
</p><p>Dean tugs at the cuffs, but they don’t budge. He strains and tries to fold his thumb in to squeeze it out, but the cuffs are too tight. </p><p>“Ha,” Cas states with no humor. </p><p>
  <em> “You may have won the battle, but you’ll never win the war. It’s on, bitch.” </em>
</p><p>Cas ignores the rest of Dean’s battle cry as he walks back into the shop. Sam is just coming back through the curtain as he enters, a small object wrapped in tissue paper in his hand. His eyes are instantly drawn to the hand tied behind Cas’s back. He raises an eyebrow in question. </p><p>“Dean was not cooperating.”</p><p>Sam chuckles. “Yeah, that sounds like Dean.”</p><p>“Sammy, you can’t just leave your brother trapped like this!” Dean pleads, turning on the puppy dog eyes. </p><p>“Seems like you deserve it.”</p><p>Dean lets out an offended scoff. “Oh, you are getting a punch, too. Cas first, then you.”</p><p>Everett follows Sam through the curtain. “So three hundred, wasn’t it?”</p><p>Dean turns to his new target. “Everett, buddy, help me out. This jerkface angel is holding me hostage.”</p><p>“I’m restraining him for his own good,” Cas interrupts. </p><p>“He’s a kidnapper! A thief! An asshole!”</p><p>Dean tugs at the cuffs for emphasis, causing the rest of Cas’s body to rock from side to side. </p><p>“You couldn’t even stop fidgeting for two seconds, and now you're making a fool of us in front of this nice man. And I told you, no talking to anyone except Sam.”</p><p>Everett slowly turns to Sam. He had been watching the exchange with wry amusement, chuckling when, from his point of view, the same person raised and lowered their voice to argue with themself. “I see what you mean.”</p><p>Sam heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Yeah, they’re the worst. I’ve got another two days in a car with them back to Kansas now.”</p><p>Everett pats him on the shoulder in sympathy. “Good luck with that.”</p><p>Sam takes three bills out of his wallet and hands them over. “See you around.”</p><p>“Don’t be a stranger. Bring your brother to see me sometime when he’s back to normal.”</p><p>“Will do.”</p><p>Sam picks up Cas’s blade from the counter and tucks it into his jacket pocket then links his arm through Dean’s, who is too busy still arguing with Cas to register until it’s too late. Cas allows them to be led from the shop and Dean mercifully stops arguing once they’re outside. Well, arguing out loud. </p><p><em> “Ha! Good luck driving with one arm! Now you have to release me!” </em> he announces triumphantly. </p><p>Cas takes the keys out of his pocket and tosses them to Sam, who catches them one-handed. </p><p>“Do you mind driving us to the motel?”</p><p>
  <em> “Crap!” </em>
</p><p>Sam tries to ignore the arguing in the passenger seat the long mile to the motel. He pulls into the parking lot and expects Cas to follow him out, but he remains seated. </p><p>“You’d better go alone, Sam,” Cas explains. “Dean is planning on telling the receptionist that you are kidnapping him.”</p><p>
  <em> “Oh, come on! It’s not fair that you can read my thoughts but I can’t read yours.” </em>
</p><p>Sam gladly books two rooms at the motel, as overpriced as it is, if it means he can have a few hours peace from the bickering.</p><p>“Sam, I think there’s a roll of duct tape in the trunk, could you get it?” Cas asks through the window once he returns. </p><p>Sam opens the trunk and rummages for it. Luckily, there’s no one around. “What do you want it for?”</p><p>“Can you put some over my mouth? Dean still plans on screaming for help as soon as we leave the car.”</p><p>
  <em> “Get out of my head!” </em>
</p><p>“I could say the same thing to you.”</p><p>Sam tears off a length of tape with his teeth, a wicked grin on his face. </p><p>“Sammy, don’t you dare. Sammy, mmmh!—”</p><p>Sam cuts Dean off with the tape, then slaps at his cheeks to make sure it’s secure and takes a step back to admire his handiwork. Satisfied, he tosses the tape over Cas’s shoulder to the backseat, takes his bag and Dean’s, and leads them to the rooms, with a quick glance around to check for witnesses. He hands the key to Cas and smirks. “Have fun now, you two.”</p><p>Moments after settling into his room, he can hear Cas, having removed the duct tape, yelling “How dare you call me that!”</p><p>“Oh, you didn’t like that? How about—”</p><p>Sam puts his headphones in and turns the volume up to max. Those guys were in for a long night. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Eight hours later, they are still arguing. Sam feels distantly sorry for the neighbors on the other side. He hopes they had headphones, too. </p><p>Even though it’s the last thing he wants to do, he knocks on Cas’s door. Cas angrily swings open the door with his left hand, his right still pinned behind him. “Good. You’re finally awake. How did you live with him in close quarters for forty years? Seventeen days and I am genuinely considering smiting myself.”</p><p>Sam snorts and decides not to answer. “Not much longer now. How are your wings doing?”</p><p>“Another three or four days and they should be back to capacity.”</p><p>
  <em> “Not a second too soon!” </em>
</p><p>“Good. Shall we?”</p><p>Sam checks out while Cas does his usual vessel healing. Sam gets in the driver’s side again, correctly assuming that those two hadn’t learned to cooperate enough to drive yet. </p><p>“Careful with my arm this time! You kept squishing it last night,” Dean complains as Cas gets in the passenger side and tries to reach around himself for the seatbelt. </p><p>“Be grateful I don’t cut it off.”</p><p>“Guys!” Sam interrupts. “Can we not do this today? I have to be in this car, too.”</p><p>“Tell him to behave!”</p><p>“No, tell him!”</p><p>Sam finds it hard to tell which one of them spoke; both of their voices were raised several octaves. </p><p>“One more argument and I tape your mouth shut again.”</p><p>Cas manages to lower his voice to a slightly more reasonable register. “That will just make me quiet. Dean will still be able to speak in my head.”</p><p>“I don’t care. As long as I get some peace.”</p><p>Sam reverses out of the parking lot and follows signs for the highway. Both Dean and Cas manage to stay quiet the entire first day of driving, and even overnight in their motel room, though, by Cas’s irritated expression, he suspects Dean is not being so quiet internally. </p><p>Sam is on the highway for about half an hour on the second day before he glances over at Cas, who has a pained, almost constipated look on his face. More than usual, anyway.</p><p>“You okay there, Cas?”</p><p>Cas’s voice is strained, as if speaking is a great effort. “Dean is trying to get control of the left arm, too. He wants to turn off your music.”</p><p>“What’s wrong with this?” Sam is quite enjoying his latest album purchase. </p><p>
  <em> “Nickelback, Sammy? How dare you.” </em>
</p><p>“He doesn’t approve,” Cas relays. </p><p>“They’re a great band.”</p><p>
  <em> “Agree to disagree. Now, I swear I almost had it. If I just—” </em>
</p><p>“No, Dean.”</p><p>
  <em> “—twist it? No, push it? Squeeze it—” </em>
</p><p>“Stop that.”</p><p>
  <em> “It’s not fair you get three limbs and I only get one. We’ve talked about your inability to share, man.” </em>
</p><p>“It’s my body, I shouldn’t have to share at all.”</p><p><em> “Your body?!” </em> Dean explodes. <em> “Excuse you, I’m pretty sure it was mine first. You have no jurisdiction here.” </em></p><p>“Oh yeah, what are you going to do about it?” Cas challenges. </p><p>
  <em> “This!” </em>
</p><p>Dean uses the hand still pinned behind his back to reach down and pinch Cas hard on the ass. Cas flinches in his seat, his jump impeded by his seatbelt. </p><p>“Dean!” Cas whines, scandalized. </p><p>He tries to pull Dean’s hand higher, but it keeps wiggling out of his grip, slapping between his back and the seat. He jerks his whole body around to try and get a better reach on the arm, but his right leg stays stubbornly fixed in place. A feeling of malicious glee overtakes Dean’s mind and he waggles the right foot up and down a few times. </p><p>“Haha!” he exclaims. </p><p>Dean kicks the heel of his boot into Cas’s shin. He can still feel the action, but it’s satisfying nonetheless. </p><p>Cas shoves his knee over into Dean’s. Dean tries to pin Cas’s leg down with his own, but Cas bucks him off. </p><p>“Alright, that’s it!” Sam snaps. “You’re shaking the whole car!”</p><p>Sam pulls over on an empty stretch of road and reaches into the back seat for the duct tape. He gets out of the car and yanks open the passenger door. He grabs Dean’s leg, struggling to hold it as Dean kicks at him, and manages to wrap the tape around his ankles, tying him and Cas together. </p><p>“What the hell, man?” Dean yells, still wiggling with all his might. </p><p>“You deserve this,” Sam states with the righteous conviction of a man driven to the edge. </p><p>Sam takes the roll of tape and wraps it around their torso, pining their body to the seat. Cas briefly tries to fight him off with his free arm, but Sam is too fast, holding it down. </p><p>He’s pretty sure a human wouldn’t be able to break free, but Cas might be able to. Thankfully, he seems to have decided to take his punishment with humility and sits in silence. Dean, however, doesn’t. </p><p>“What if the cops see? They’re going to think you’re about to murder me.”</p><p>“I’ll tell them it’s a kinky thing. That you’re into it.”</p><p>Dean’s whole face contorts into a disgusted frown. “Gross, man.”</p><p>“You brought this in yourself,” Sam reminds him. </p><p>Sam puts the last piece of tape over Dean’s mouth and reduces his complaint to muffles. He takes his phone out of his pocket to snap a quick picture, then gets back in the driver's seat and turns on the ignition. </p><p>After twelve blissful hours of silence, Sam pulls into the bunker’s garage, his limbs stiff from sitting for so long and his stomach rumbling. He flicks open the pocket knife he keeps in his back pocket and walks around to the other side of the car. </p><p>“Now,” he starts, pointing the knife at their chest. “if I let you out of your get-along shirt, are you going to kill each other?”</p><p>Cas quickly shakes his head no. </p><p>“Good.”</p><p>Sam cuts down the side of the tape, careful not to cut the car's upholstery, and pulls the rest off, then moves down to Cas’s feet. He pulls off the tape from his mouth. </p><p>“You ready to go?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Cas sits in the car, unmoving. Sam raises his eyebrows. </p><p>“Dean,” Cas prompts. “You control the right leg, now. You have to step out.”</p><p>
  <em> “Oh, yeah.” </em>
</p><p>Dean hesitantly swings his leg out of the car and plants it firmly on the ground. Cas does the same with his. They both straighten their knees at the same time so they are standing. </p><p>
  <em> “Look at that. Teamwork.” </em>
</p><p>“Right, let’s unpack—” Cas starts to say. </p><p>Cas and Dean both move their legs at the same time to try and move to the trunk and lose their balance. They land awkwardly on Dean’s shoulder where he is unable to catch his fall due to his cuffed hand. </p><p>Sam winces at the tumble. “I’ll get the keys.”</p><p>“I think that would be best,” Cas agrees, his voice muffled against the garage floor.</p><p>Sam returns a moment later and unlocks the cuffs and tosses them back in the trunk. Dean flexes his fingers and shakes his arm a few times. If he still had to worry about blood circulation, his arm would be tingling with pins and needles right now, but it feels the same as it would if it had been free the last two days. </p><p>“We’re going to have to work together. On your knees.” He waits for Dean to follow the order. “Now put your foot up so we’re kneeling. Now, Sam?”</p><p>Cas points with his hand for Sam to stand in front of him. He lets Sam take his hand. </p><p><em> “Ew,” </em>Dean complains but takes Sam’s other hand. </p><p>“And stand.”</p><p>They wobble slightly, and have to pull on Sam’s hands for balance, but eventually, they make it upright. </p><p>“Got it?” Sam asks. </p><p>“Yes, I think so.”</p><p>Sam lets go of their hands gently, testing the waters. When they don’t immediately fall over, he heads off down the stairs. “Well, I’m starving. I have eaten all day because of you two.”</p><p>Cas feels a wave of guilt wash over him. “Yes, of course. Let me make something for you. It’s the least I could do. You must have had the worst day.”</p><p>“Yeah, okay, Cas. Sure.” Sam rubs his hand down his face. Cas’s cooking left a lot to be desired. </p><p>
  <em> “So, how we gonna do this?” </em>
</p><p>Cas looks at the ten yards of concrete ahead of them. A distance he’d walked a hundred times with no difficulty, now it felt like a monumental task. </p><p>“Okay. Left leg.”</p><p>Cas moves his leg forwards, a tiny shuffle, barely lifting it from the ground. </p><p>
  <em> “Right leg.” </em>
</p><p>Dean takes a massive step, much longer than his usual stride, unbalancing them slightly. </p><p>“Left leg.”</p><p>Cas takes a slightly more confident step. </p><p>
  <em> “Right leg.” </em>
</p><p>Dean takes a reasonably-sized step.</p><p>
  <em> “Hell, yeah, we’re getting it.” </em>
</p><p>Together they walk slowly, and somewhat awkwardly, to the stairs. It takes them much longer than it should. </p><p>They get to the top of the stairs and pause. </p><p>
  <em> “Crap, how are we going to do this?” </em>
</p><p>Cas can feel the way Dean’s stomach seems to sink at the prospect. </p><p>“Same way as before. Right leg, left leg, as we practiced.”</p><p>Despite the confidence in his voice, Cas still tightly grabs onto the railing. </p><p>Dean misjudges the length of the stair with his first step and loses his balance as his foot teeters over the edge. His momentum throws them forward and he has to fling his arm around to grab the railing next to Cas. </p><p><em> “Okay, so stairs are dicks,” </em>he concludes. </p><p>“Agreed.”</p><p>Dean lowers his leg down to the next step, without letting go of the railing. Cas nudges his foot down so they’re on the same step. They continue in this manner, shuffling sideways, until they reach the bottom of the stairs. </p><p>Once at level ground, they look up to see Sam with his phone pointing at them, an arrogant grin stretched across his face. </p><p>“Did you film that whole thing?” Dean demands. </p><p>“Yep.” He pops the P, an unremorseful grin stretched across his face. </p><p>Dean swipes for the phone, but Sam uses his extra height to his advantage and holds it above his head, waggling it tauntingly. </p><p>“Cas, jump, you idiot.”</p><p>Before Cas can react, Sam runs with his two coordinated feet to the other side of the room. He holds the phone up and starts a new video. “If you want it, come and get it.”</p><p>Dean stretches one arm forwards and walks jaggedly toward Sam, vaguely away that he kind of looks like a zombie right now. Just as he makes it to his brother, Sam nips out of the door.</p><p>“I lied! You can’t have it. I’ll make my own dinner!” he yells down the hallway. </p><p>Dean and Cas stare after him, seething. </p><p>
  <em> “Cas? I’m willing to forgive you for tying me up for two days if you’re willing to work together against a common enemy.” </em>
</p><p>Cas considers it for a moment. “I suppose I am willing to forgive you for being a petulant brat if it means I can punch your brother.”</p><p>
  <em> “We have a deal then?” </em>
</p><p>Dean holds his hand out to Cas. Cas turns his hand upside down and presses their palms together. “Deal.”</p><p>Cas smiles, and he can feel a warmth in his mind from Dean. </p><p>He turns back to look at the mountain of stairs he just valiantly conquered and catches a glimpse of Baby half-hidden around the corner. </p><p>“Oh, for the love of—”</p><p><em> “What? What is it?” </em> Dean demands, suddenly alert. </p><p>Cas gestures helplessly at the stairs. “We need to get my vessel down.”</p><p>
  <em> “Dammit!" </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>They end up using Cas’s telekinesis to get the vessel down, because they both realize there is no way they’re going to be able to carry him. This turns out to have the added bonus of being their first act of revenge on Sam, when they float a corpse past him as he’s cooking. Sam nearly pisses himself.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Four-leaf Clover</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After three days of trial and error, Dean and Cas have a system. They can not only walk together, in a reasonably coordinated way, but also run, jump, and catch. Days spent running the hallways have got them practiced in making tight turns on the fly. Afternoons spent in the gun range taught them to shoot with both hands with deadly accuracy. Hours of Dean humming the Rocky theme music has Cas pulling out his hair. </p><p>On day twenty-two, he and Dean are alone in Dean’s room, each with a hand on the same controller, shooting at some generic bad guy in the latest first-person shooter Dean had insisted on buying that, as far as Cas was concerned, was identical to all his others. Cas is just about to attempt a particularly difficult shot when he feels a surge of energy flow through his body. </p><p>He drops his side of the controller in shock, leaving Dean to quickly press the pause button to try and save his already depleted win count. </p><p>
  <em> “Cas, buddy, what was that?” </em>
</p><p>Cas falls back on the bed and breathes deeply, a small smile on his face. “My wings. They’re back.”</p><p>
  <em> “Awesome! Can I see? You always look badass with your wings out. I want to know if I do, too.” </em>
</p><p>Cas stands and walks over to Dean’s full-length mirror. He lets his grace flood through him and pulls his wings from their alternative dimension. </p><p>With a crackle in the electrics, his wings appear behind him. They move slowly, stiffly, with disuse as he unfurls them to fill the room. His eyes light up a shocking blue. </p><p><em> “Awesome,” </em>Dean says again, this time whispered in awe. He tries to reach behind himself to touch them but his hand just hits empty air. </p><p>“They’re not physically here, just visibly.”</p><p><em> “Okay, that doesn’t make any sense, but I don’t care. Look how cool I look!” </em> He lowers his voice to a growl and says out loud, “I am an Angel of the Lord. I raised you from perdition. Dean, we don’t need to eat bacon.”</p><p>Cas screws his face into a frown. “That’s not what I sound like.”</p><p>
  <em> “That was spot on and you know it.” </em>
</p><p>Dean takes the angel blade out of Cas’s sleeve and pokes an imaginary enemy in front of him, then slashes the air a few times for good measure. </p><p>“Are you done?”</p><p>Dean twirls the blade in his fingers before putting it back in the sleeve. <em> “Yeah, I’m done.” </em></p><p>Cas steps a little closer to the mirror to examine his wings closer. They’re healthier than he’s seen them in a long time, not a feather out of place. Even the soft under-feathers are fluffy and warm. He gives them a quick test flap to check everything’s in order. </p><p>He can feel confusion flooding Dean’s mind. <em> “How did you do that?” </em></p><p>“Do what?”</p><p>
  <em> “Move your wing!” </em>
</p><p>Cas tilts his head. “Should I not be able to?”</p><p>
  <em> “Not the right one! I thought I had control of that side.” </em>
</p><p>Cas flaps just his right wing, and watches the feathers ripple and fall back into place. “Hmm. It seems I have full control over them. That’s good.”</p><p>Dean having control of his wings could be disastrous. Even the slightest mis-flap could leave them stranded on Jupiter. </p><p>
  <em> “Huh. Why do you think that is?” </em>
</p><p>“If I had to guess, I’d say because my wings are part of me, my grace. You have control over your body because it’s yours, but you have no ownership of my grace.”</p><p><em> “Hmm. I guess that’s a good theory,” </em> Dean concedes. <em> “But your last theory was you weren’t strong enough to suppress me, and you’ve got all your juice back now and I’m still here.” </em></p><p>“I have a theory on that, too.”</p><p>
  <em> “Oh, do tell.” </em>
</p><p>“That we have grown in strength together. That my grace has been building your soul, too.”</p><p>
  <em> “Alright, smarty-pants. Let’s leave the theories to Einstein.” </em>
</p><p>“Do you want to test it?”</p><p>
  <em> “How will we do that?” </em>
</p><p>Cas tucks his wings to his back and sends them away from this dimension and lets his eyes fade back to Dean’s soft green. “Side table,” Cas states by way of instruction. </p><p>Together they cross the room and open the top draw. Cas takes out a large silver knife and rolls up Dean’s undershirt. He cuts a thin, shallow slice across their stomach. It wells with blood but he can feel no pain from it. </p><p>“Okay. Heal that.”</p><p>Dean covers the wound with his hand and concentrates. He doesn’t really know what he’s trying to do, but he focuses on the feeling of Cas’s grace healing him over the years, the feeling of it in his fingers as he healed Jimmy and tries to let it flow through him. Several seconds pass before he releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. </p><p>
  <em> “Nope. Can’t do it.” </em>
</p><p>“Good. It’s nice to be right.”</p><p>Cas summons his grace through Dean’s arm and heals the wound. </p><p>
  <em> “Hee. Tickles.” </em>
</p><p>Cas cleanses the knife of his blood and sets it back in the drawer, where it clatters across the multiple guns Dean has stashed in there and eventually settles on a face-down magazine that Cas pretends not to see. </p><p>“Do you know what this means, Dean?” he asks, quickly shifting Dean’s focus. </p><p>
  <em> “You’re a showoff?” </em>
</p><p>“No,” he sighs, “it means we can go to Italy. We can get that flower.”</p><p>He can feel Dean’s interest pique. <em> “Ooh! Then it’s just one fight with a witch and you’re out of me!” </em></p><p>“Exactly. Let’s go.”</p><p>Cas starts to prepare his wings, still invisible to Dean’s eyes, for flight, but he can feel Dean’s side of the body hesitating. </p><p>
  <em> “Right now? It’s the middle of the night.” </em>
</p><p>“It’s early morning in Italy,” Cas points out. </p><p>Dean shrugs. <em> “Fair enough. Okay. Wait!” </em> he stalls. <em> “Why did we drive all the way to Seattle? Why didn’t we just wait for your wings?” </em></p><p>“Oh,” Cas says softly. “Yes, I suppose that would have been more sensible.”</p><p><em> “So I spent four days in a car with Sam for nothing. Great.” </em> </p><p> Cas can feel Dean’s displeasure radiating from his head without words.</p><p>“I think it was good for us. It was a pivotal bonding moment in our friendship.”</p><p>
  <em> “We spent the whole time arguing, man.” </em>
</p><p>“But we became closer because of it.”</p><p>Dean takes control of their lips to smile. <em> “Yeah, we did, didn’t we? Right. Let’s go. No, wait!” </em> he stops again. “<em>Should we leave Sam a note?” </em></p><p>“We will only be gone a minute. He won’t even notice we’re gone.”</p><p>
  <em> “Okay, then. Bat us off, Cas.” </em>
</p><p>Cas tilts his head to the side. </p><p>If Dean was in control of his vasodilation, he would be blushing. <em> “You know what I mean.” </em> He clears his throat awkwardly. <em> “To Rome!” </em></p><p>“We’re actually going nearer to Venice.”</p><p><em> “Whatever! Just go!” </em>Anything to get him out of the thick tension of this room. </p><p>Dean may not be able to feel the wings, but he can feel their effects. A rush of air pounds into him, seemingly from all sides, and he feels his feet leave the ground. He scrunches his eyes shut to protect them, but the onslaught is over before he can even get them fully closed. Still, he doesn’t open them for several seconds after he feels his feet hit solid ground again. </p><p>“Dean? We’re here.”</p><p>Dean shuffles his foot. He can tell he’s no longer on the soft carpet of his bedroom, but he can't quite make out what he’s standing on through his boots. It’s too soft to be concrete or gravel, but firm enough to hold him. </p><p>He can see the morning sunlight through his eyelids, and he feels its gentle spring warmth kiss at his cheeks. </p><p>There are hundreds of insects rustling around him, something he wouldn’t be able to hear without Cas’s celestial assistance. A bird lets out a soft coo that he’s never heard in a tree to his right. </p><p>“Dean? It’s okay, you can open your eyes,” Cas gently prompts him.</p><p>He knows Cas could do that for him, but he appreciates being allowed to take his time. Slowly, he cracks open one eye and brings up a hand to shield from the sun. </p><p>They’re in a large field, full of shin-high grass and wildflowers of every color. A chubby bumblebee buzzes from flower to flower before flying off into the air. A squirrel skitters up a large oak tree on the border. </p><p><em> “It’s beautiful,” </em>he thinks before he can stop himself. </p><p>Cas hums appreciatively. “I have always liked this part of the world. It is full of natural wonders like this.”</p><p>They both take a few minutes to soak in their surroundings. They could probably spend a thousand years there and still find something new to amaze them every day. </p><p>Dean clears his throat and snaps himself out of his trance. <em> “So, this flower then?” </em></p><p>Dean’s voice in his head jolts him back to reality. “Right, yes. It’s about the same size as a buttercup, similar shape too, but is a soft purple shade, almost like a sunset.”</p><p><em> “Sure, let’s find the tiny flower,” </em> he snarks. <em> “Here. In a field full of flowers. That’s bigger than a football field.” </em></p><p>Cas looks behind himself to see the clearing extending several yards in the opposite direction, almost doubling his initial perspective. </p><p>“Hmm. I don’t remember it being quite this big. Maybe this will take longer than I thought.”</p><p>
  <em> “Good thing we’ve got all day, then.” </em>
</p><p>They scan the ground for a flower that matches Cas’s description. They find several he recognizes, like poppies, cornflowers, and bluebells, and a few more that Cas’s provides him with the Latin name for when he doesn’t know them.</p><p><em>"What does this flower even do?” </em>Dean wonders after about an hour of searching. </p><p>“It’s a cleansing agent. It is immensely powerful. It will help scrub my vessel of the curse inflicted on it.”</p><p>Dean smirks. <em> “So it’s a power shower flower?” </em></p><p>“If that’s what you want to call it,” Cas replies, unamused. </p><p>
  <em> “Well, what would you call it?” </em>
</p><p>“It has no scientific name. No botanist has ever discovered it, and the locals don’t know of its rarity or abilities. The local children make garlands of it in the summer. They just call it ‘the purple flower’.”</p><p>
  <em> “What was it called in the spellbook, then? How do you know it’s this particular flower? I don’t want to have wasted an hour of my life for nothing.” </em>
</p><p>“They called it Zuccarelli’s ingredient, after the first witch to discover its power.”</p><p><em> “And she didn’t give it a name?” </em>Dean scoffs. </p><p>“She was too interested in selling it across Europe for massive profit.”</p><p>Dean hums appreciatively. <em> “Fair. But if I ever discover something, I’m giving it a cool name.” </em></p><p>“You did discover something. You named it a Jefferson Starship,” Cas reminds him. </p><p><em> “Oh, yeah.” </em> He chuckles lightly with the memory. <em> “You know what? I stand by that name.” </em></p><p>“It was ridiculous.”</p><p>
  <em> “Shut up. Now, are you going to look for this dumb flower or not?” </em>
</p><p>It takes them three more hours to find it. By then, the sun is really blazing down on them, and Dean would be worried about burning if not for Cas’s powers protecting him. </p><p>Cas is first to spot the small cluster of flowers, almost hidden under a patch of taller grass, but he eagerly directs Dean to crouch down and reach for them. </p><p>
  <em> “This it?” </em>
</p><p>“This is it.” </p><p>Cas cradles a flower in his hand and checks it for any imperfections. </p><p><em> “Doesn’t look powerful,” </em>Dean remarks doubtfully. </p><p>“It isn’t in this state, but mixed with other ingredients, it can be very potent.”</p><p>
  <em> “Like how flour is disgusting if you eat it straight out the bag, but is delicious in a pie?” </em>
</p><p>Cas relaxes his grip on the flower to sit back on his heels and gives Dean a look of disbelief he knows he can’t see. </p><p>“No, nothing like that at all. Please tell me you’ve never eaten raw flour.”</p><p>
  <em> “...No.” </em>
</p><p>“You’re ridiculous.”</p><p>
  <em> “Sam dared me. I was nine!” </em>
</p><p>Cas scoffs at him. Together, they pick three flowers and tuck them into Dean’s pocket, Cas muttering about Winchester stupidity the whole time. </p><p>“Back home, then?” Cas asks once they’re standing and he’s wiped his hand clean of mud on his jeans. </p><p><em> “Actually, can we stick around for a bit?” </em> Dean starts tentatively. “ <em> I’ve only left the states like, once, and how many more opportunities am I going to get to go abroad without getting in a flying death machine?” </em></p><p>Cas smiles. “Of course. There’s a village about a mile from here.”</p><p>Dean insists on walking there rather than flying, not that he’s scared, because he isn’t, but because he wants to see as much as he can. </p><p>They walk down the path through the trees, flattened by years of footsteps, and towards the sounds of civilization due east. </p><p>They pass several fields and nod politely at the people working in them. There are a few farmhouses dotted along the way before they reach the center of the village, where the morning market is in full swing. </p><p>A young woman is selling bouquets of flowers, waving roses at every passerby. Two elderly women have baskets and baskets of tomatoes on their rickety old table, held together by sheer force of will rather than nails at this point. Two middle-aged men are shouting and gesturing wildly at a third man behind a fish stall, and Dean doesn’t have to speak Italian to know they are haggling for a cheaper price. </p><p>
  <em> “God, everything here smells so good. Damn you for not letting me taste any of it.” </em>
</p><p>“We don’t have any Italian money,” Cas reminds him out of the corner of his mouth, not that anyone is paying any attention to him. </p><p>
  <em> “We could steal stuff.” </em>
</p><p>Cas ignores him and walks up to the tomato stall. The older of the two women looks at him appreciatively. </p><p>“Buongiorno,” he greets. </p><p>The woman immediately starts talking in rapid-fire Italian, waving her hands, asking a lot of questions by her inflection. </p><p>
  <em> “Cas, what’s she saying? I don’t speak pasta.” </em>
</p><p>She talks for a few more minutes before handing him a fresh, juicy tomato. </p><p>“Grazie,” he nods. He passes the tomato over to Dean, who cradles it awkwardly in his hand, having nowhere safe to keep it. He takes Dean’s phone out of his pocket and holds it up to his ear, conscious of the woman still watching him, and pretends to take a call. “She said I am very handsome and wanted to know if I am single. Her daughter is looking for a new relationship.”</p><p><em> “Single Italian chick, huh? She hot?” </em> Dean waggles his eyebrows flirtatiously. </p><p>“You tell me. It was the woman next to her.”</p><p>Dean’s face falls. <em> “That was her daughter?! But they were both ancient!” </em></p><p>“It seems the tomatoes are the secret to a long life,” he muses. </p><p>He holds the phone in place with his shoulder and takes the fruit to run his thumb pensively over it, as if trying to unlock its secrets. </p><p><em> “So, you gonna go for it? Or is she a bit young for you?” </em>Dean teases. </p><p>“I don’t think so. By the sounds of it, her last husband died very suddenly. And suspiciously. I wouldn’t be surprised if she murdered him herself.”</p><p>
  <em> “Damn, it’s always the quiet ones, huh? Wait, you don’t think she poisoned the tomatoes?” </em>
</p><p>Cas holds it close to his nose and takes a deep sniff. “It’s safe.”</p><p>
  <em> “Why’d she give it to us then, if not to Snow White us?” </em>
</p><p>Cas shrugs. “To show us a display of her talents, or as a courtship gift?”</p><p>
  <em> “Italy’s weird, man. In America, we just give people our phone numbers.” </em>
</p><p>“Leonarda doesn’t have a phone. It’s been confiscated by the police as evidence.”</p><p><em> “Oh, she definitely killed him,” </em> Dean concludes. <em>“One hundred percent. How’d you get all this information so quickly, anyway? You were talking to her for like, two minutes.” </em></p><p>“I have often found that mothers tend to overshare their children’s information.”</p><p>
  <em> “True that. There’s no way I’m eating this, poison or not.” </em>
</p><p>At that moment, Dean’s phone rings loudly in Cas’s ear. Dean yanks the phone away and reads the caller ID saying ‘Sam’ flashing up on the screen. He accepts the call and speaks loudly into the receiver.</p><p>“Heya, Sammy!”</p><p>“Dean? Where are you? Are you okay?” Sam’s worried voice crackles down the line, the signal in this remote village not being great. </p><p>“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m in Italy,” he reassures his brother. “What are you doing up?”</p><p>“It’s seven in the morning. Wait, Italy?”</p><p>Dean can almost feel his brother do a double take through the phone. </p><p>“Damn, time flies when you're having fun,” he chuckles to himself. “Yeah, we were getting that flower for the spell, decided to hang around and see the sites. Guess we should head back,” he adds remorsefully. </p><p>“Alright. See you in a minute.” Sam doesn’t seem to pick up on his change in tone and hangs up. </p><p>Cas, however, instantly senses Dean’s disappointment. “Now I have my wings again, we can come back at any time. You just have to ask.”</p><p>Dean smiles fondly. <em> “Alright. It’s a date.” </em></p><p>Cas can sense his slight embarrassment at the words, but he doesn’t retract them. </p><p>They find a secluded corner behind a fantastic smelling restaurant and with a quick flap of Cas’s wings are back in the bunker.</p><p>Dean recognizes the feeling of the bunker’s kitchen’s tiled floors instantly and opens his eyes without hesitation. He’s glad he did. He gets to see Sam jump out of his skin, and spill some of the milk out of his freshly-prepared bowl of cereal.  </p><p>“Mornin’, Sammy!”</p><p>Sam claps a hand over his heart, where it is beating out of his chest. “God, I forgot how annoying that was.”</p><p>“My apologies,” Cas adds when Dean shows no signs of remorse. </p><p>“So, you got it?” He squints curiously at the tomato in Cas’s hand. “That doesn’t look much like a flower.”</p><p>“Nah, this is a souvenir. Catch.” Dean snatches the probably-not-poisoned tomato from Cas and chucks at his brother, who has to snap his arm above his head to catch it. </p><p>“So where’s this flower, then?”</p><p>“Here.” Dean reaches into his front pocket and pulls out the flowers, slightly flattened by their hours pressed flat to his leg. </p><p>“Will they still work in that state?”</p><p>“Yes, we actually need it crushed,” Cas answers. “Do you have a pestle and mortar?”</p><p><em>“Yeah, because this is an apothecary in 1563,” </em>Dean interrupts sarcastically. </p><p>“In the cupboard.”</p><p>“Really?” Dean stares in bewilderment at his brother. </p><p>“What? I like to grind my own spices,” Sam mutters defensively. </p><p>“You are so lame.”</p><p>Sam fishes out the pestle and mortar from the back of one of the cupboards, and at Cas’s direction, a small vial from a storage cupboard. Dean can smell some strange odor coming from the pestle so he brings it to his nose to sniff it. </p><p>“What is that? Mint?”</p><p>Sam rubs his hand across the back of his neck. “I may have also made mojitos.”</p><p>“That’s more like it!”</p><p>Cas snatches the pestle from Dean and pokes him on the cheek with it. “Focus. Hold the bowl.”</p><p><em> “Bossy,” </em>Dean pouts, but does as he’s told. </p><p>Cas picks the flowers off their stems and grinds the petals into a pulp. They release a surprising amount of juice for something so little. </p><p>“Sam, could you please get the vial?”</p><p>
  <em> “Oh, so you can be polite.” </em>
</p><p>Sam pops the lid of the vial and holds it out in front of them. Cas pushes the solid pulp back with the pestle. “Tilt it.”</p><p>
  <em> “I’m sorry, what was that?” </em>
</p><p>Cas sighs. “Dean, could you tilt the bowl? Please?”</p><p>
  <em> “Now, was that so difficult?” </em>
</p><p>“Normally, when I want my arm to do something, it just does it. It doesn’t make sarcastic comments first.”</p><p>Sam chuckles, not needing to hear his brother to know exactly what he’s saying. </p><p>Together they pour the dusky purple liquid into the vial and stopper it. </p><p>“So, five ingredients down. One to go.” A few weeks ago, Sam would have been delighted to have them apart, so they would stop arguing, but now he fears they would just double their attempts to prank him in retaliation for filming them. </p><p>Dean smirks at Sam’s expression, already planning his next move. “Yep, and we’ve saved the best till last. Blood of a pissed-off witch-bitch. How’s the hunt going?”</p><p>Sam hadn’t been idle the last few weeks. He’d been reaching out to every hunter he knew, seeing if any of them had intel on this witch or even any of the Guaire family. </p><p>“Nothing yet,” he sighs. “Louis’s keeping an eye on the Charleston place, but it’s been empty for weeks. Duncan’s got a cousin in Aberdeen watching that place. Javier’s been listening for chatter on the witch grapevine, but it’s radio silence.”</p><p>Damn. Witches could be sneaky when they wanted. “We’ll find her. She can’t hide forever.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Three days later Sam’s phone rings. He sees Louis’s name on the caller ID, so he answers and puts it on speaker. </p><p>“Tell me you’ve got good news, Louis.”</p><p>“Depends on your definition,” comes his thick southern accent through the phone. “Someone just tripped my motion sensors outside the manor. My cameras ain’t great, but she’s maybe early thirties, white, brunette, skinnier than I like ‘em. That your girl?”</p><p>Sam looks over at Cas for confirmation. He nods once. </p><p>“Could be.”</p><p>“Well, you boys better get here quick, then. I dunno how long she’s gonna stick around.”</p><p>“We’ll be there now. Thanks for your help, man.”</p><p>“Don’t think I’ll forget this. You owe me a beer, Winchester.”</p><p>“Next time I’m in the area, I’ll hit you up.”</p><p>“You’d better.” He hangs up without further ado. </p><p>Sam runs straight to the nearest draw and pulls out two magazines of witch-killing bullets. He stashed them all over the bunker a few days ago just in case. He loads one into the gun in his waistband and tucks the other in his back pocket. </p><p>“You got everything?” he asks over his shoulder at Cas. </p><p>Cas spins his angel blade a full circle in the air and catches it. “Yes.”</p><p>Cas tucks his blade back up his sleeve and clamps his hand down on Sam’s shoulder. </p><p>In an instant, they’re standing in a tree-lined driveway, an old plantation house ahead of them. Empty flower beds line the path and overgrown weeds sit where neatly mowed grass once lay. Vines crawl up the side of the house and through the cracks in the windows. An owl hoots from its roost in the chimney, an assortment of mouse bones in a pile beneath it. </p><p><em> “Do they even want to be hidden? This place just screams ‘witches’ lair’,” </em>Dean scoffs.</p><p>They make their way up the path, watching each other’s backs in case she’s lurking in the grounds. Dean catches sight of Louis’s surveillance camera hidden high in a tree and shoots a solitary finger gun at it. </p><p>They creep up the rotten wood stairs and across the creaking porch, cursing every footstep rattling through the place. </p><p>"Cas, we good?” Sam whispers and points at the front of the building. </p><p>Cas only has to take a brief glance at the place. “There’s no warding. Angel or otherwise.”</p><p>Sam purses his lips at that but doesn’t reply. He tiptoes to the adorned front door. It was probably beautiful once, elaborately painted, but now it was worn by years of the elements. </p><p>He presses his ear to the door to listen to the other side. When he hears nothing, he takes a tentative grip of the handle and twists. To his surprise, the door opens. </p><p>“This is too easy.”</p><p>The Winchester brothers look at each other and reach the same conclusion. A trap. </p><p>They step over the threshold and into a massive foyer with a chipped gold-flecked staircase. Dust pools from the carpet with every step they take. Four doors lead from the entrance hall, so Sam points to a door to their left and starts walking towards it. </p><p>“In here, boys!” </p><p>The sing-song voice comes from behind them. They turn on their heels, abandoning their need to be quiet, and head to the door at the back of the foyer. </p><p>Dean tightens his hand around the doorknob. “On three,” he mouths. Sam nods and raises his gun to shoulder high. </p><p>“One, two, <em> three!” </em></p><p>Dean twists the handle and steps through first, keeping his brother behind him. The witch is lounging on a once-ornate couch, sipping at a fancy cocktail in a sparklingly clean glass. Her pristine clothes, exactly as Cas described, even down to the scrunchie, look out of place in the ruined building. She looks entirely unperturbed by the gun pointed directly at her face. </p><p>“I’ve got to say, boys, I’m impressed. That was very fast. I hope you don’t always come that quickly,” she teased with a wink. </p><p>Sam and Dean share a glance. “So, what’s this all about then? Luring us here?”</p><p>She sits up in her chair and sets her drinks down on a side table. “Witches talk. And the latest chatter is the Winchester brothers are looking for me. Thanks for sending your little friend after me, by the way. He made a wonderful sacrifice. Very nice bones.”</p><p>That’s why Javier hadn’t been in contact. Poor guy.</p><p>“You know us?” Sam continues interrogating. </p><p>“Of course! Any witch worth her salt knows about you two. You’re famous! Can I get an autograph?”</p><p>She rests her head in her hands and stares up at him with a dreamy expression, like a preteen girl meeting her favorite pop star. </p><p>“If you know about us, then you know what we do. You know we can kill you.” Sam cocks the gun for emphasis. </p><p>“Obviously.” She rolls her eyes. “I knew you’d come after me once I killed your little pet, so I figured I’d give myself a fighting chance. Do this on my own turf.”</p><p>“Our pet?” Sam shoots a sideways glance at Dean. </p><p>“That handsome angel friend of yours! Such a shame he had to go, but he was getting in the way of my business.”</p><p>“Murder is a business?” he scoffs. </p><p>She shrugs, unbothered. “Witchcraft is a business. Sacrifices are… ingredients.”</p><p>She gets to her feet and paces lightly in front of the couch, slowly closing the distance between them. </p><p>Sam follows her with the gun, never relaxing his grip. “What’s the spell?”</p><p>“What? You think I’m just going to tell you my evil little plan?” She laughs, a single cackle. “Monologue for you to give you a chance to escape? I don’t think so.”</p><p>She pushes her hands out towards them. Dean can feel a gush of power rush into him, but it just whistles through his hair. Sam isn’t so lucky. He feels himself get pushed backward and is held to the peeling wood by an invisible force, his gun getting knocked from his hand. His head hits the wall hard and he struggles to keep his consciousness as blood seeps into his shirt collar. </p><p>The witch looks at her hands, then back at Dean. She frowns. “Why didn’t that work?”</p><p>Cas lets his grace flood his eyes and they light up electric blue. </p><p>“Angelcakes! You made it!” She grins and claps her hands together like a kid on Christmas. </p><p><em> “Angelcakes? You sure you weren’t flirting?” </em>Dean barely manages to keep the jealousy out of his voice. </p><p>“I was genuinely sad to kill you, you know. I think we could have had a lot of fun together.” She winks at him and strokes a finger across his chin, scratching her manicured nails through his stubble. </p><p>“I don’t want to kill you, either.” Cas brushes her hand away. </p><p><em> “You don’t?” </em> Dean’s thoughts linger on the feeling of her hand on his face, how Cas took slightly too long to knock her away. </p><p>Cas shakes his head minutely. “All I need is a vial of your blood, then I’ll leave you be.”</p><p>Her eyes light up in recognition. “You’ve found the counterspell? I’m impressed.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“I’m surprised you want to get back in your old body, though.” She leans in close and whispers in his ear. “I thought you wanted to be inside Dean Winchester.”</p><p>
  <em> “What’s that supposed to mean? Cas? What’s she talking about?” </em>
</p><p>Cas chooses not to acknowledge Dean’s internal panic and directs his attention back to Inghinn. </p><p>“Dean deserves to have his body back. Now, are we going to do this the easy way, or the hard way?”</p><p>“Oh, I like it hard.” She bites his earlobe, hard enough to bleed. </p><p>Cas summons his blade and takes a swing at her which she easily ducks under. She rolls across the floor to snatch a wrought-iron candlestick from an oak desk and uses it to parry his next blow, giggling the whole time. </p><p>“Come now, you’re going to have to do better than that,” she taunts. </p><p>She rubs her hands together and chants a short spell. A ball of flame appears in her hands. </p><p><em> “Left!” </em> Dean screams in warning. </p><p>They throw their body to the ground, just in time to dodge the fire, which hits the wood panel wall and sizzles into embers. </p><p>She doesn’t waste time, already spewing another incantation. The wind howls in the trees behind them. She shoots the next fireball at their head, and Cas rolls them to the side. </p><p>They get back to their feet. They avoid three more fireballs, Cas trusting Dean to call the shots so she can’t hear, until she casts a new spell, one she hadn’t said before. The angel blade flies from Cas’s hand and whistles through the air before landing in hers. With a maniacal laugh, she pushes them backward till their hips hit the desk and stabs down, pinning Cas’s hand to the solid oak. </p><p>Dean and Cas both yell out in agony, their voice coming out in two registers at once. Distracted by the pain, they lose their footing and collapse in front of her designer leather boots. </p><p>She lets out a sharp breath and pushes her hair back from where it’s stuck to her face with sweat. </p><p>“You’ve got better. Not good enough to beat me, but it’s an improvement. I got too cocky last time. I should have just killed you where you stood, but no, I just had to show off. I won’t make that mistake again.”</p><p>She takes a step toward him, all the while chanting. The window shatters, causing shards of glass to spray across the room. Some of it hits Dean and cuts through his clothes, but the glass may as well be feathers for how much it hurts his skin. Her hair blows back from her face, pushed by the whirlwind of air, the blood vessels in her neck bulge and pulse, her pupils so wide there’s no hint of color. </p><p>She takes another step forward and reaches down, her hand faintly glowing. Just before she can reach them, Cas screams, “Dean, now!”</p><p>Dean launches himself at her and slams his palm flat to her forehead. He can instantly feel the full force of Cas’s grace burning through him. Her chant cuts off as she cries and falls to the floor, burnt sockets left where her eyes used to be. </p><p>Dean collapses down to his knees in exhaustion. </p><p>
  <em> “Man, that was cool. I bet I looked awesome. Did Sam see that?” </em>
</p><p>He turns his head to see Sam lying prone on the floor, the spell pinning him to the wall broken upon its caster's death. A trickle of blood runs down his face from a wound at the top of his head. </p><p>“Sammy!” Dean tries to stand to go to his brother, but yells in pain as he tugs on the blade in his hand, <em> “Cas, get that out of us!” </em></p><p>“I can’t. It’s in my hand. You’ll have to pull it out.”</p><p>Dean pales. <em> “That’s going to hurt like a bitch, isn’t it?” </em></p><p>“Yes. Be quick,” he forces out through gritted teeth. </p><p>Dean steels himself and takes a firm grip of the handle. With a sharp pull, he yanks the blade clean out of his hand. Somehow, it hurts more coming out than it did when it pierced his flesh for the first time. He doesn’t have long to scream before Cas lights his hand in gold and heals the wound. </p><p>A weak groan comes from behind them. They turn and rush to Sam’s side as he slowly comes back to consciousness. “Dea…?” he slurs. </p><p>“Yeah, I’m okay. We got her. Cas, you gonna fix him?”</p><p>Cas presses two fingers to Sam’s forehead to stitch his skin back together and heal the rapidly forming concussion. </p><p>“Thanks,” Sam mutters as he gets to his feet. He looks over at the still-smoking sockets in the body across the room. “Yikes.”</p><p>“I know right!” Dean beams. “I was super badass, got all smite-y.”</p><p>Cas rolls his eyes. “<em>I </em>did the smiting, you just moved your hand.”</p><p>“Smite-ily,” he adds proudly. </p><p>“That’s not a word.”</p><p>“Is.”</p><p>Sam snaps his fingers in front of their face to get their attention. “Guys, we came here for a reason, remember?”</p><p>“Right.” Dean picks up the angel blade from the desk and crouches down to the floor. He holds the witch’s arm above her head and cuts a deep line into her skin. Blood slowly wells, having no heartbeat to push it, and trickles down her arm. Cas pulls a vial from his pocket, miraculously unbroken in the fight, and holds it under the blood. Once the vial is full, Dean throws her arm back to the ground. Cas stares down at her. </p><p>“It’s a shame we had to kill her.”</p><p><em> “She killed eight people that we know of, and was planning to kill more,” </em>Dean reminds him. </p><p>“She seemed nice.”</p><p><em> “You’re only saying that because she called you handsome. And ‘advanced detection abilities’ my ass!” </em> Dean mocks his words from a few weeks ago. <em> “Finally, a theory you’re wrong about. She’s just a fan. Got a total hard-on for you. Probably wanted to have your babies.” </em></p><p>Cas doesn’t dignify that with an answer and turns to Sam. “Back home?”</p><p>“Yep. We’ve got a spell to do.”</p><p>Cas slips the vial back into his pocket and returns to Sam’s side. He grasps Sam’s shoulder and flaps his wings with determination.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Just a short lil epilogue to go!</p><p>(Leonarda is named after the serial killer Leonarda Cianciulli. She absolutely did kill her husband. Different MO to her namesake, though.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Five More Minutes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Do you need my help?” Sam asks once he lands back in the same spot, almost as if he never left.</p><p>Cas shakes his head. “No, we'll manage. You should get some rest.”</p><p>Sam knows Cas completely healed all of his wounds, and he knows Cas is aware of that too, but he recognizes when he’s being dismissed. “Alright. Call if you need me.”</p><p>Sam turns on his heels and heads off in the direction of his room, a small smirk forming once his back is turned. </p><p>Dean and Cas walk toward Cas’s room. There’s no discussion; it’s like they can read each other’s thoughts. </p><p>Inside, the empty vessel of Jimmy Novak is laying in the bed, exactly as he has for the last several days. They take out the spell ingredients, as well as a chopping board, a knife, and a large metal bowl that they stashed there a few days ago. </p><p>In unison, they take the hysleria root and chop it down to fine chunks, Cas holding it still while Dean slices. They scrape the minced root into the bowl and start on the glowl nuts. With the flat edge of the blade, they crack open the shell and toss the innards in whole. The dried Aldina berries and powdered eaurgen get measured out and tossed in with no other preparation. Finally, they uncork the two vials and pour them in, one in each hand. </p><p>
  <em> “What now?”</em>
</p><p>He knows Dean knows as well as he does what the next step is, but he can feel him stalling. </p><p>“We paint the body in the paste and let it cleanse, then I can inhabit it again.”</p><p><em>“Okay,” </em> Dean thinks sadly. </p><p>Cas sets down his vial with a clatter on the table and looks up at a small mirror pinned to his wall so he can read Dean’s expression. </p><p>“Dean, what’s wrong?”</p><p><em> “Nothing,” </em> Dean evades. </p><p>“Dean.”</p><p>
  <em> “It’s just… I’ll miss having you around, okay?”</em>
</p><p>That wasn’t what he was expecting Dean to say. Dean had been complaining nonstop for weeks, demanding control of his own body again. </p><p>“I thought you couldn’t wait to get rid of me?”</p><p>
  <em> “I couldn’t at first. But… I don’t know. You never stick around this long, normally. You help us with a case and disappear off to do whatever angel crap you normally get up to. It’s been nice just getting to hang out with you, watch movies and stuff.”</em>
</p><p>“Oh,” Cas whispers. </p><p>Dean starts fidgeting with his hand, picking imaginary dirt from under his nails. </p><p>
  <em> “Have I annoyed you? I know you don’t normally have to put up with a whiny voice invading your head.”</em>
</p><p>Cas smiles, just a small upturn of his lips. “No, I’ve enjoyed spending time with you, too.”</p><p>There’s silence in his head for a long time before Dean starts talking, slowly at first, like he’s not sure of his words. </p><p>
  <em> “You know what you said? About going to Italy again? Did you mean that?”</em>
</p><p>Cas doesn’t have to search his memory long for that discussion; it had been at the forefront of his mind ever since he said it. “Yes. Did you mean it about it being a date?”</p><p>The fidgeting intensifies, and Dean looks away from the mirror, not able to meet his own eyes knowing who was really behind them. </p><p>
  <em> “Umm, maybe? I mean, if that’s what you want?”</em>
</p><p>“Yes, I think so.”</p><p>To anyone watching, it would seem like they had lapsed into silence, but Cas can feel Dean’s mind working at a mile a minute, trying to find the right thing to say. </p><p>
  <em> “I’ve changed my mind. I think we should get on with the spell, Cas.”</em>
</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>
  <em> “Because I can’t kiss you like this.”</em>
</p><p>Cas only freezes for a split second before launching toward the bed. Dean laughs at how fast he starts unbuttoning his vessel's shirt, his hand vibrating with anticipation. </p><p>
  <em>“Someone’s an eager beaver. Second base already?”</em>
</p><p>“Shut up, Dean,” he snaps reflexively. </p><p>
  <em> “Come on, now! Is that really a way to talk to your date?”</em>
</p><p>His hand pauses on the last button. “You’re right. I'm sorry, I didn’t mean that.”</p><p>
  <em> “Nah, it’s okay. I kind of like it when you boss me about.”</em>
</p><p>“Hmm. I’m going to table that discussion for later, but right now we need to do this.”</p><p>With the final button undone, Cas spreads the shirt open to expose his vessel’s toned chest. Dean holds the bowl still while Cas paints a series of symbols with his finger across the expanse of skin, from the neck down to his waist. </p><p>They stand back and look down and the symbols once the last elaborate squiggle has been drawn. Nothing happens.</p><p>
  <em> “Did it work?”</em>
</p><p>“Wait a second.”</p><p>Another minute passes in silence before the paste starts to sink into his skin, one symbol at a time, until the largest one, right above his heart, fizzes and crackles like a firework before disappearing and leaving the skin unblemished. </p><p>
  <em> “Are we good?”</em>
</p><p>Cas hovers his hand over his vessel, his palm emitting a small light. “Yes. The spell is entirely removed.”</p><p>
  <em> “What are you waiting for, then?”</em>
</p><p>“One more thing.” Cas reaches for the chair at his desk and pulls it close to the bed. “Sit here.”</p><p><em> “Why?” </em>Dean asks, already sitting. </p><p>“You’ve only had control of one half of your body for twenty-five days, it might be a shock to you to have both legs again.</p><p>
  <em> “And there’s me thinking you were going to kiss me until I’m weak in the knees.”</em>
</p><p>“Hmm. That too.”</p><p>
  <em> “Let’s see what you got, then.” </em>
</p><p>Dean can feel the grace inside him surge before he sees a bright blue tendril of light flow from his mouth and twist in the air before slipping through the body’s lips. </p><p>At the back of his mind, Dean registers the absence of grace, how weak his muscles suddenly feel, how the toes in his left shoe are pinching uncomfortably, but he can’t focus on anything other than the body in front of him. The still, unmoving body. </p><p>“C’mon, c’mon,” he whispers, cupping Cas’s face with both of his hands. </p><p>Cas’s eyes open, blue light emanating from them for a second before they fade back to their usual darker color.</p><p>Dean breathes a sigh of relief but doesn’t move his hands. He runs his thumb over Cas’s cheekbone. “How’re you feeling?”</p><p>Cas sits up gently and twists the wrist of his right hand in front of him. “Good. You?”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>They smile at each other. Dean’s not sure which of them moves first but their lips are suddenly pressed together. He feels Cas’s arms wrap around him to cup his waist and the back of his head, their knees knocking together. </p><p>Cas deepens the kiss, his breathing heavy as he runs the tip of his tongue over the seam of Dean’s lips, seeking entrance. </p><p>Cas’s fingers tighten in his hair and pull his face impossibly closer and Dean can only respond with a deep moan, summoned from the back of his throat without his permission. </p><p>Dean pulls out of the kiss, hindered by his annoying human need to breathe, and rests his forehead against Cas’s. </p><p>“Better than our last one?” Cas whispers, his hand trailing down to caress Dean’s cheek. </p><p>“Mmm. I think I needed the chair after all.”</p><p>They both chuckle softly. Cas lowers the hand from Dean’s waist, brings it around his hip and down his thigh to his knee. “They seem sturdy enough to me,” he teases and leans back in for another chaste kiss. </p><p>“What about your super-strong CrossFit knees?” Dean asks while squeezing them. </p><p>“In tatters.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Definitely.”</p><p>“We’d better not let you stand up for a while, then.”</p><p>Dean runs his finger teasingly down Cas’s exposed chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. </p><p>“Oh no, whatever am I going to do, stuck here, on my bed, for the next several hours?” Cas states, completely deadpan, but with a glint in his eyes that suggests he knows exactly what he’s doing. </p><p>Dean waggles his eyebrows flirtatiously. “Oh, I’m sure we can think of something.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sam’s fears about having the two of them ganging up on him end up being unfounded; It turns out those two getting along is a whole lot worse than them fighting. Sam gets sick of them and leaves to join Jack on the spa retreat to try and cleanse his brain of all the horrible things he’s heard. It takes them three days to notice he’s gone.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Let me know what you think! I love hearing from you &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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